Did Someone Say My Name?

(Found here)

All day, all hours—

as hammers hit thumbnails,

shoppers see the price of Frosted Flakes,

and mothers dilate to eleven—

the outbursts fly toward heaven

like reactions in a livestream:

Jesus Christ!

Hesukristo!

Jezus Chrystus!

Some of you throw in

my mom and dad or H

as a middle initial (Howard? Hank?).

Or, when things get really dire,

attach me, corndoglike, to a stick.

Am I hurt, indignant

over the ceaseless yelling

of my name in vain?

I’m not gonna lie (I can’t):

I don’t always love it.

Some of you are too linguistically

lazy to test out Corn Nuts!

or William Shatner!

when the person in front of you

drives ten under the limit.

But the line between blasphemy

and prayer can be as thin

as a Bible page, and I’m wired

to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Every Jesus! is rooted in a me-shaped

need, a crying out, a primal utterance

even atheists can’t help but sob,

head in hands, when it all

becomes too much.

~Tania Runyan