Mormon's are everywhere battalions of bicycling bachelors with dark suits and well cropped hair we're Mormons too have been since '72 I'm riding between my brother and sister in the back seat of a '67 Buick station wagon with red vinyl seats we stick by each other and to those seats we've been eating cheese and bacon sandwiches our mother made for thirteen days straight in the August heat and both my siblings are wakin' on those eggshells as I will soon learn how to do myself they play their quiet silly games with their peashooters as I sip luke-warm Sprite from a tin can sold to me by a hunchback silly bastard old woman a hundred miles back who is probably the only person with good sense in this part of the country I still don't know what to do god-awful bacon and cheese sandwich but your body is your temple God tells us so, so drink up your milk and reap what you sow I mold the cheese and bacon sandwich into a ball in my hand it kind of reminds me of Play-dough I look around to see who is watchin' and stuff it between the red vinyl seats no one will find it at least not for a couple of weeks we're in this big place now it's kind of like 1/2 of an blue plastic Easter egg shell and there's a hole in the top where the sun cuts through and lights up the room and I hear all these male voices telling me that black people are inferior and it's ok to have more than one wife and as the dry dry breath of the utah sun warms me I stand before a statue of Jesus that is far too big and has held these folks hostage for so so long and I gaze up at the nostrils of the sandstone savior and wonder if it can smell all this bullshit cause I sure can and I'm only 5 years old in Salt Lake City in 1973...
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Copy to Clipboard: Mormon's are everywhere battalions of bicycling bachelors with dark suits and well cropped hair we're Mormons too have been since '72 I'm riding between my brother and sister in the back seat of a '67 Buick station wagon with red vinyl seats we stick by each other and to those seats we've been eating cheese and bacon sandwiches our mother made for thirteen days straight in the August heat and both my siblings are wakin' on those eggshells as I will soon learn how to do myself they play their quiet silly games with their peashooters as I sip luke-warm Sprite from a tin can sold to me by a hunchback silly bastard old woman a hundred miles back who is probably the only person with good sense in this part of the country I still don't know what to do god-awful bacon and cheese sandwich but your body is your temple God tells us so, so drink up your milk and reap what you sow I mold the cheese and bacon sandwich into a ball in my hand it kind of reminds me of Play-dough I look around to see who is watchin' and stuff it between the red vinyl seats no one will find it at least not for a couple of weeks we're in this big place now it's kind of like 1/2 of an blue plastic Easter egg shell and there's a hole in the top where the sun cuts through and lights up the room and I hear all these male voices telling me that black people are inferior and it's ok to have more than one wife and as the dry dry breath of the utah sun warms me I stand before a statue of Jesus that is far too big and has held these folks hostage for so so long and I gaze up at the nostrils of the sandstone savior and wonder if it can smell all this bullshit cause I sure can and I'm only 5 years old in Salt Lake City in 1973...
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