Apostate Café

By joshua


Posted in: poems

Rhubarb Pie

Rhubarb Pie

I had a dream last night
In which I walked to a river
To watch my life float by
And two old ladies were there
Eating pie as part of their own peculiar brand of Christianity
Won’t see Jesus unless you eat pie, every day at noon, they said.
So I ate a piece of rhubarb pie with them, and asked about all the others
Those who would be lost
And why no one had told me to eat pie
Smiling quietly to themselves
You’re eating it now, they said.