The preacher

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Each Sunday the preacher stood on the pulpit
His left arm with a bible tucked under his armpit
Several crosses calligraphed on the cover page
And I sat right there at the front page
With an enormous KJV bible, always
People needed to see me with it,
And talk well of me.

I remember I could count how many times
The times the preacher opened his bible for the five years
All the years I worshipped in that holy tabernacle
The first two years he opened the book
Twenty times only. I counted
I cannot fail to recall his last verse
My worry was necessary, why he had to carry it
Why he had to carry an enormous bible and end caressing it only.
I never understood his preachings
Always about success, money, marriages and cars
Boasting of his fleet of imported luxury motors
And the countries he had set his foot in;
Not the kingdom of GOD, not the aim of his church.

The other day I strode downtown
Just behind the streets where famous bottlemen lavish themselves
Where these men lie
As I had my own bottle, the one my father told me to have,
The preacher was equally around
He sat arresting several bottles of killer drink- whisky
White foams dripping from his mouth ends.
As a man of half bottle, I grabbed mine
And moved to his table full of whiskey.

Hey brother, praise GOD hallelujah!
I shout at him raising a bottle to toast
Yes brother, praise God.
You know a little wine is good for the body.
Furthermore didn’t Jesus, just imagine Jesus
He…..m..ed wi…n….e. infac….t a…..l…..ooooo.t of wine.
Remember,,,,,do as I say…..but not as I do.
He preached for me there, and I listened
He emptied, all the offering on the table for the bill
Mannerlessly, he stood up and shouted
‘that’s my wage, from the pastordom, and the doomed church’.
Yeah, he was a preacher of doom for sure.

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