I am allergic to prayer

I am allergic to prayer.

I write in the other slot.

Forms on a latex clipboard.

Doctor’s waiting room.

Checking off my imperfections.

To the rhythm of smooth jazz.

Soundtrack to boredom.

Supplications too.

And exultations, hoshannas,

Even hallelujahs.

I’m experiencing recurring liturgical aversions.

Is there some form of anti-something?

A booster shot? An elixir? A purple pill?

At fifteen I took a hayride around Stone Mountain, Georgia.

The flood gates of shiny liquid that I wiped on my hooded sweatshirt sleeve caused a thought bubble:

Hay fever – hay.

It was a great moment of ‘duh.’

Then it was grass, cats, dust.

And now this –

Sacred utterances, chants, even whispers –

Heck, I can’t even be around silent prayer.

I’m over-sensitive I guess.

So, Doc, please, I’m begging you,

Inject me with the strongest stuff you got.

I got to lead Kol Nidrei in two hours.

- Daniel S. Brenner

High Holiday Poems