“What if…” you said,
handing the joint back to me.
“What if Jesus…” you continued,
watching me inhale deeply.
“What if Jesus, instead of being the son of God…”
you went on, taking back the joint,
“…decided he’d rather be a doctor
so his mother would be proud of him.”
Neglecting somehow the obvious—
that is, his fabled healing powers—
all I could think to say,
as I looked at you taking a mighty pull,
was “Jesus would look cool
in one of those white doctor’s smocks,”
which led to a long silence,
“smock” definitely being the wrong word.