your crops will rise

turning the dial
on your
old car radio
you come across
the scratchy voice
of preaching.
you can almost hear
the wind
whistling
through the creases
of a thin
boarded church.
salvation
is at hand.
your crops will
rise
again,
your family will
forgive
you.
it's not your
money, it's God's
send it
back to me
and make things
right in
your broken world.
i'll be sure
that God
gets it.