American Jesus,

You hang,
just to the right of my
grandfather’s stone fireplace
immortalized in thick wood.
Blond Jesus, I wonder
how many more walls
you hang on.

How many lies you have told.
You speak no words,
yet you have deceived
the West.

White Jesus,
who am I to believe in you?

Was there not a
Middle Eastern man,
a poor dark-skinned man,
a carpenter,
Who did the dirty work
for you?

And still there you hang,
blue eyes immortalized
on my grandfather’s wall,
taking all the credit.