Give Me God, But Not Too Much

The Rabbitman came out of his cave as he always did
when mendicants came calling.
“See him, and your troubles disappear,” they’re told,
and they believe but why?

Because they don’t expect to see
a poor man’s Minotaur?
Because the Elephant Man is dead?
Because he he’s never known the kisses of a pretty girl?
Because there be witchcraft afoot
when a man has an animal head?

No. He’s the replacement for the crucifix,
thought too gruesome for children,
depressing for the rest.
To meditate on Christ’s broken body
is to see our own weakness;
utter endless questions
of what kind of god claims to save us,
but couldn’t save himself?

Ahhh, but Rabbitman—
there’s a god who can show you
how paltry is your suffering
compared to the rabbitface of a lonely man.
We can go home relieved.
Sure that we are stronger than God.