nothing

the televangelist
tells the audience to put
their hands
on the television.
to reach out
and surrender, to ask
that their
bursitis be gone.
get out your checkbooks.
I know it's you, he says,
eyes popping out,
a band of sweat
across his tanned brow.
there is someone
out there with a hurt knee,
he must come
forward
and kneel and touch
the screen.
I feel another man with
blurred vision,
come, come closer, believe
and see more clearly.
there is music
and speaking in tongues.
there is chaos.
you don't want to get up,
but you put your
slice of pizza
and beer down and go
to the tv. you touch
to top of it,
concentrating on your shoulder.
nothing.