"You know it's all about Lord Jesus, folks,
And nothing else," I heard her say
As I, with headphones on and bag in tote,
Sat down upon the floor in one
Far corner of the Southbound train.
I stared across the aisle at her,
That crazy lady, so-called "Jesus freak,"
Who kept on yelling at
The people dumb enough to shun her.
(And mother always told me never shun a psycho; they get mad.

And yet, I wonder, is it really all that bad
And is it truly mad to know you're right?—
To believe in something oh so strongly that the seeds
Of doubt don't e'er take root and sprout
New thoughts of heresy within the mind?)

With tattered, blondish, uncombed hair
And crooked teeth, she pulled
Her jacket, green and grey,
Around her figure tightly. Looking straight at me,
Her piercing eyes as blue as I'd yet seen,
She asked, "Do you know Jesus yet?"
And to avoid a scene, I readily responded with
A "yes," and then she thanked me

Never guessing that my swift response
Was not a sure one, but instead, a quick way out,
Just meant to placate and appease:
Evasion of the shout I knew would come.

And never guessing maybe I just can't believe,
Just can't say "yes"
Without the cringe that follows . . .

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