Cowed

Gale Acuff

Cow’s Skull with Calico Roses. 1931. Georgia O’Keeffe. Art Institute of Chicago.

I was absent from Sunday School today so that means I was present, just not there, but home in bed with some creepy virus that made me vomit my cornflakes and Tang when I got out the front door to walk there, but my dog licked it up and wagged his tail and I'm proud of him because he's not proud. I mean that bad sort of pride that gets you Hell and where you go to burn forever in the Lake of Eternal Fire – that's where Miss Hooker says we'll go if we've sinned and don't pray to God to forgive us and pray in the name of Jesus. So I do. So I called my dog a good boy and we went inside and to my attic bedroom and I took off my trousers and coat and tie and good shirt, and I forgot my shoes, I took them off first, and even my socks, and got back into bed, which was easy because I hadn't made it up like I was supposed to and that's a sin, not not making it up but not honoring my mother, and father too I guess, by doing what she tells me. What they tell me. Maybe I threw up for a reason, a demon in me, in my belly, and God made me spew him out of there.

It's a hard lesson but maybe next time I won't disobey but I'm not sure, God's awfully busy to be bothering with a ten-year-old especially on Sunday, when He rests, so next week maybe I won't make my bed again, and then eat breakfast and then head for church and see if I get sick again and if I don't that will tell me something, unless God's planning to outsmart me but that's not fair because Father says You're not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, which is the kind of lights that rich folks have and he teaches geography so we're poor at least compared to rich folks, their money I mean. Maybe we're rich in other ways. I'd be King Midas if I never sinned. So maybe it's time to start cutting back. It's about time for Miss Hooker to ask Alright, class, whose turn is it to lead us in the Lord's Prayer? And I think it's mine but I'm not there, in body anyway. Maybe if I pray it hard they'll hear it from here, my voice, I mean the voice inside that comes from my mind, or is it my heart or soul, or all of these, but when I close my eyes I get dizzy and when I pray it I don't get any further than hallowed so I have to throw up again, there's still a little bit of demon left in me.

I choke it back since sometimes coming clean is painful and you pray to God for help but He's helping you in a different way that hurts like Hell but Hell would hurt much more and you don't really have a body there, just your naked soul being seared in flames like those hamburgers at the Brazier Queen except they smell good. And taste good, too. We eat there Friday nights, and last time I saw Miss Hooker there - with her boyfriend, I guess. She likes a lot of ketchup on her fries. It looks like she covers them in blood. I caught her eye just as I was chomping into my burger and she smiled but I couldn't, all that bread and meat in my mouth. I think that everything means something but you only find out the real skinny, I mean how it all hangs together, when it's too late, when you're dead I mean, and if I could come back to life, I mean on earth and not Heaven or Hell, I wouldn't be a cow, though in Sunday School class sometimes I hear them bellow from a mile away, which is how far I have to walk to church and another mile back although it seems longer, I guess because I'm returning to the world of sin.

If I was a cow I could moo the Lord's Prayer for all to hear. But still, sooner or later, they'd eat me.

Gale Acuff has had poetry and flash fiction published in Ascent, Reed, Poet Lore, Chiron Review, Cardiff Review, Poem, Adirondack Review, Florida Review, Slant, Nebo, Arkansas Review, South Dakota Review, Roanoke Review and many other journals in a dozen countries. He has authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel, The Weight of the World, and The Story of My Lives. Gale has taught university English courses in the US, China, and Palestine.