Resonance

The man at the front is speaking of a saint

who lived in the body of a guy I knew to be mean.

He’s painting a picture with thin, holy paint

while we sit in the pews and we keep the air clean.

Then a motor starts up in my cousin’s left pocket,

a frantic, plastic buzzing on the dark oak wood.

It skitters toward the edge like a small, cheap rocket

breaking the silence as well as it could.

I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled,

watching that phone dance a jagged little line.

It was the only honest thing being said

in a room full of people pretending he was fine.