Poem: The Grossest Thing We Call a Miracle

The Grossest Thing We Call a Miracle

They say birth is
a miracle.
Guess it could be,
but I don’t know.
I’m no expert.
If it is so,
then it is the
sole miracle
that can be done
by your cousin—
the real dim one.
How many holy
things are begun
in a Kia
parked in back of
a Dairy Queen?
How many sacred
things culminate
with pee and poop
shoved out near
a torn hoo haw?
That is a lot,
but maybe not
a miracle,
or at least so
far as I know.

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