Modern Jesus watches Roger Federer

[The LORD] taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man.
Psalm 147

Now that’s perfection. He never emits
a single groan, moves just enough,
seems to have a sixth sense about
those lines. That’s a subject worthy
of worship. His legs are thin, I see,
a little like mine. After match speeches
all listened to with bated breath.
Catches minds like fish. Mild and fair.
I wish Someone would sent lightning,
make that thick black hair echidna itself.
Just a bit. I was crucified, never got half
this much adulation. He looks a lot
better in shorts though, that’s true.
Though not like that other Rafael.
Everyone delights in his angel-legs.

Oh well, who cares?
Pass the strawberries.

P.S. Cottier

Part of a series in which a character called Modern Jesus is just as world-weary and cynical as the rest of us. Started out from that weird line in Psalm 147 about God not delighting in legs. Ended in fruit.

Some may be serious, some playful. However, if you click on this quill, I can guarantee you a blog experience with added Poesie:
Tuesday Poem