Faith

The man on the bus stop talks about the government the same way
my grandmother used to talk about God.
He tells me the things he believes in the same way
my grandmother used to tell me about her church, as if
he’s challenging me to doubt him
doubt the miniseries of conspiracies running in his head.

Being a good granddaughter, I just nod my head and smile
because who am I to doubt that all evil is based on the number seven
or that the government’s trying to get rid of pennies
because only quarters have microchips in them
or that the media’s trying to turn all of America towards Satanism
or that guys will think I’m a dirty girl because my bra strap’s hanging out?

Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I'm in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press). Read other articles by Holly.