Was my mother sain' rosaries day and night - beads coiled 'round each mitt - that compelled the Lord to heed her prayers, if He built this world in seven days He could dang sure make me quit. So first God hires on this angel, a thief, a rustler, 'fore he come reborn, to filch my warbag from the pickup cab - ``no gear, too broke to buy it new,'' God thought, ``that'll ear him down and leave him shorn.''
Now I got no insurance on my life, my health, my house, or half-ton Ford, so when State Farm rushed that check - full coverage for my losses - you might say, it surprised the Lord!
Inside a week, I'm back a scratchin' with riggin', hooks, rosin, chaps, and glove, while God, studyin' hard his notes on Rodeo - ``How to break an addict'' - concocts plan B there up above.
- Paul Zarzyski From ``Roughstock Sonnets'' Poems by Paul Zarzyski, photos by Barbara Van Cleve Kansas City: Lowell Press, 1989.