Quia Peccavi

The group stationed at the bar
on an amiable Friday night
discusses their ideal breakfast.
"Piece of wheat toast, with butter
and my grandma's blackberry preserves,"
says Janet. There is a discussion
of family recipes and perfect mornings.
Tina's mom makes jalapeno jelly;
Perry's grandmother's apple butter
won contests.
 "Anything I wanted?" says Ralph,
"Steak, fried eggs, hash browns, and a beer."
Everyone laughs. I realize
that I'm probably the only one in the place
who knows what a kipper is,
and that for some reason this
makes me believe  for a moment that I
am somehow better than
the people around me.

God's voice
comes like a thunderclap
in my head. He says to me,
"Fuck you."