The sidewalk healer witnessing
in the house of spurious claims,
preached faith and transcendence,
promised miracles with each dollar
dropped in the collection bucket.
He gave simple answers
to all of life’s complex problems
into one magical moment,
wrapped in a neatly-tied bow
and delivered to your door.
Believe in how the spirit works, he’d say,
and give you the same line;
the same worn-out phrases
as he sermonized yesterday.
He claims to be a partner
with the all-knowing,
a six-figured salesman
who thumps the podium
with a lunatic’s conviction
without caution or delay.
He’s a rainmaker
who can’t form clouds,
who’s never cast a spinning reel,
and as much as he kneels and bobs,
he never could turn water into wine.