-“I don’t care if it rains or freezes, long as I got

my plastic Jesus, ridin' on the dashboard of my car”-

It was a familiar tune; well, familiar to those well-tuned

to the dashboard radio stations of weary salesman favorites.

plastic Jesus was cream-colored, about 3 inches high,
could be 4 inches as it got older or as the road got longer.

It was manufactured in some exotic asian continent hideaway,

its eyes set toward the open road, its base taped down for safety,

its back to the road’s receding history as are most moving objects ––

like hairlines or gums.

we don’t see this thing around much anymore, but

I sort-of liked the little guy.
he got the family to Horseneck Beach, or Lincoln Park, or
the picnic grounds at the Narrows, with a lot of yelling along the way, sure,
but resulting in only a few minor injuries.

reminds me of the time when Priest, sitting in his Pontiac

with its motor running in front of the rectory, was hearing
Albert Fazarro's curbside confession, Priest's head nodding along
through Albert's recital, especially attentive during the "self-abuse" section
as if he liked hearing about it.

Priest had one of these plastic guys sticking up there for its navigational assistance,
but Priest's plastic Jesus was a 5 incher easy

and during Albert's confession, Priest's dashboard radio
was playing: "Get a Job" by the Silhouettes,

followed by Albert's marginally sincere "Act of Contrition."