Prayer to Bibana: Patron Saint of Hangovers

(I wrote this poem after an art gallery viewing in New Orleans. A particular painting showed Jesus Christ walking through the French Quarter during Mardi Gras. While I have not been able to find said painting since, I am hoping my imagery can show you just a little of what inspired me.)

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,

My dearest Bibana, I thank you the most.

Thank you for sending me that psychedelic Jesus;

You know, the dude who died on a cross to save us?

Yeah, I saw him last night. Man it was weird;

He had a big wooden cross on his shoulder, and a scraggly hippie beard.

He had lime green sandals and glasses of a violet hue,

Linens around his loins (for respects sake)

But no shirt; I think a tie-dye would do.

Around his neck hung multicolored beads,

I noticed, as he sat across from me to help me with my needs.

“Listen up, cat,” he said, “I can’t talk long,

This fucking cross is heavy and I ain’t that strong.”

I stared on in wonder and thought, “It has to be the beer,”

Blinked a few times, and knew

God was here.

“Okay, dipshit, you better look at me with some class

The only reason I’m here’s ‘cause St. Bibi’s on her ass

In heaven playin’ PlayStation with my Pops and St. Pete.

She’s probably kickin martyr ass too, but the reason I’m in this seat

Across from you is this:

Tomorrow you’ll have a migraine the size of Israel

And be soaked in your own piss.

I know it sounds painful and humiliating, this gig,

But it ain’t nothin’ compared to martyrdom. I’m talkin’ crucifixion, ya dig?

Alright, I’ll let you go, now. Know your limitations next time.

Peace, my brother.”

And disappeared that savior of mine

Amid the hookers and drag queens trying their best to sing,

(No offense, they sounded tone deaf) And that dry, high-pitched ring

Of a laughing long-time smoker as he pats me on the back,

The tourists yakking about the city as the sky fades to black

Due to my Screwdriver and Mind-erasers and that last Sex on the Beach.

Before I blacked out I craved a cigarette, but it seemed so out of reach.

I awoke the next morning in latex and a thong upon my head,

A splitting headache, and the smell of urine all over me and the bed.

As I tossed my cookies, I wondered “Why, God, why give me this curse?”

Then I remembered Jesus and thought, “Eh - could be worse.”

So thanks Bibiana, I’ll try not to get drunk again

Try being the main word. Just kidding. Praise Jesus. Amen.