Listening Through the Noise
You are perhaps the only person praying in the diner.
No mere blessing, this.
It is a litany of lovers and haters and distant souls
longer than many of the begats
that populate the more boring pages of the Bible,
those long lists of people who lived and died
and left no mark more than their name on God’s list.
The people I pray for would be surprised
and the fervently I pray for them,
Good things, all.
For those I love, I pray my wishes for them.
For those who are strangers, loved by people I love,
I pray hope and God’s wisdom.
And for those that hate me, there are prayers as well.
Simple prayers, that they find their peace
and that I do not end up road kill before they do.
I pray for strangers, leaders, lost souls
and the men and women of God who have saved me from myself
far more times than I can count.
Inevitably, there is someone’s dog or cat whose owner
frets and worries about, surely worthy of a prayer.
It is a long prayer, most mornings,
and I probably look like a man who desperately needs his coffee
as I pray.
But I kid myself. Mostly, I am not noticed.
a fixture in the old diner you frequent,
lost in the sound of morning conversations
and the sizzling of bacon. sure somehow
God can listen through the noise.
About this poem.
I don’t generally pray at diners. Mostly I do it in the quiet and privacy of my home, or out in the beauty of nature. But sometimes, like today, I do.