Love And Snake Oil

A Poem by LJW

Maybe love didn't die. Maybe it just up and left. Could be it's hanging its head out of a Buick on a winding Kentucky road, kneeling unseen at the feet of a motherless child in Africa, or sitting alone in the back of a bus in Cleveland saying:

NOW WHAT?!

I've come to believe that faith healers don't heal. They just hold angry snakes by their tails. As night falls they pitch canvas tents, setting up shop in backwoods towns where hope runs out around the 20th of the month. They light gas torches, turn them up high- blinding white. "I HAVE SEEN THE LIGHT" they shout through eyes shut tight; blind to the sanctity of truth, the humanity in a hard day's work, or the pure light that hides just above the spectrum.

Am I to believe that a message of love from God himself can be delivered by osmosis directly by a preacher's hand laid on the top of my bowed head?

Sometimes I think love is sandwiched between 2 pieces of rye bread and 3 inches of pastrami somewhere in a deli in Brooklyn. Or that maybe love is a content man with four inconsiderate stepkids and a minimun wage job strapped on his back. Could be that love is a Vietnam vet with his legs blown off who stands on his stumps and cries everytime he hears God Bless America.

Right now I feel like the only thing I know about love is what it isn't.

Love isn't a diamond ring on an outstretched finger. If it's a feeling. I know where I can buy that in a bottle, a bag, and a vial. It's not a basket of puppies because puppies grow into old limping dogs who have somehow outgrown their usefulness.
If love is a puzzle maybe it's the missing piece, left out of the box during packaging by a factory worker whose arms ache from being empty.

Maybe love is trapped between the crumbling pages of that old photo album that got lost in the move. Or maybe it dwells in the interpretation of your next meaningful glance...

The one I'll miss searching for that photo album.