F Is for Fake

The court has been made
Kind of real through ritual
But up close
I found the kings hands tiny
In Sams redeeming qualities
I tried on
My dad’s white turtle neck
Tucked it in as if I’d tried on his tipton belly
I removed every single photograph
Of the crucifixion
From the National Gallery
Stashed 'em all under my raincoat
Bounced right out that front door
Heads up, aware to not smirk or hurry
The baby faced security guard 'No problem'
Absorbed in a picture book on sharks
There’ll be no more proof
Any of it ever happened
Like there was never even any crucifixion
Tried to sell them as forgeries
Eating myself sick on three cheese
At our open end
Oh, fromage and public loneliness
Flipped a big plastic bucket
Got myself an ottoman
Oh, fromage and public loneliness
Oh, fromage and public loneliness
Oh, fromage and public loneliness
Oh, fromage and public loneliness