I'M Not The One To Ask Poem by Robin Bennett

Maybe the earth
is out of control
Lord knows
there are danger signs
on every street corner

Perhaps the man-
in the moon
is just a giant spy,
named peeping Tom.
Maybe the stars-
are just pieces of
ancient french lace
delicately cut by
an angel hell bent on
impressing God.
I'm not the one to ask.

I believe I am no one
special.
Yes, I have a body
and a rather ill mind.
Yet somehow I still
function.
Not very well, mind you.
I wanted to die-
once before
sweet pharmaceuticals in
hand
I do pour out these
strange words to
myself-
still I can't escape.

Now to the real issue-
I walk around with knees
pristine from lack of prayer
I have a well worn bible
that I stole from a
Holiday Inn in Omaha
It smells of pine sol and
musty phrases.
Maybe God finds me
to ignorant to answer.

I'm not the one to ask