rejection slips from above

I say
my prayers
often
only to find them
bouncing back
marked
“Return To Sender.”
And I
pray to the ceiling
I
pray to the fan
I pray to
a million tiny unseen ants
with no queen.
I look for
new places
to pray to
while hoping the old ones
may yet
yield answers.
I am neither
believer
nor
atheist,
but merely
suspector,
and a pessimistic
one to boot.
I fear my own prayers
the way you would
any
monster
fashioned in a
bar,
basement
or
bathtub.
And I fear
the power
of a prayer
to rot on
the vine
or send you
driving against
the headlights.
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