Is He Really Here?

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Is He Really Here?


In the dark before dawn my one head-

light caught the Christ as he whipped


out of a driveway on my way 

to school, heeling his longboard 


while he slurped a Polar Pop, 

white robes and crimson sash 


billowing like doubt behind him, 

and I considered turning around


to ask where he’d been and why

this sudden breakthrough 


into our interstate but then recalled

how Penelope didn’t press 


the beggar though she knew 

he was up to something, resting


instead that if it was 

Odysseus then soon enough 


it’d all be right, and if it wasn’t 

the sleep-eye would clear


with a bit of coffee, a straight shot

of morning light. 


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