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Beatitudes For Breakfast

By Bud Sturguess

Saint Matthew (not one of the famous ones)

walks to his motel room

Catching raindrops with his slumped shoulders

The rain reminds him of so many angels

He can't help thinking such things

He means no malice or spite

He keeps such thoughts separate from the state

He debates with himself whether or not those drops of rain

were predestined for the pavement,

if he's somehow done wrong by being drenched

He stops at a used bookstore

to replace his copy of

The Purpose-Driven Life

He turns backwards the Book of Mormon

and The Origin of Species

so their spines don't show

He reconsiders, convicted:

No, I mustn't. I mustn't.

People must make their own decisions.

But he turns rightside up every upside down cross

on the boulevard

The motel is a quaint little one

but it could use a cleansing

He calls Daughter One

She's busy making a video for TikTok

to show the GOP a thing or two

He calls Daughter Two

She’s busy putting water on the back porch

to absorb the power of the moon

He calls Son One

He doesn't answer

He's enlightened enough to be alone

Gideon's Bible is in the motel dresser drawer

Saint Matthew turns to page one

And utters a curse

remembering every word is true

He repents of his dirty word

and reads another hundred promises


About the author:

Bud Sturguess was born in the small cotton-and-oil town of Seminole, Texas. He now lives in his "adopted hometown," Amarillo. Sturguess has self-published several books, his latest being the novel Sick Things. He lives on disability benefits and collects neckties. Sturguess's work appears in New Pop Lit, as well as the upcoming anthologies Mid/South by Belle Point Press and The Daily Drunk's From Parts Unknown.

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