Dear Protestant North American Religion:

I have been watching you now for some time,
for all time,
for every bit of time that I have had;

and I have concluded at last
that you are not what you pretend to be -
that you don't see quite so clearly,
and you don't know what you claim .

You aim too low
and move too slow on what matters
as you grow fat, and fatter.

And so I say to you,
Dear Protestant America:

that you do not own Jesus.
You are not the gatekeeper you presume.

And so I say to you,
(in the words of a culture you purport to transcend):

"I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you"

(the end).

Except, no.
Because, you see, we share a lot, still.
So I will bend my will
to see you yet on holidays and such, and say,

"Hello - how do you do?"

And, true, our small talk makes me almost wish that I could die
(and most surely, yes, to cry);

But I will, still, try...