By S.J. Stover
Featured Art by Rachel Hall

Jesus never looked so jittery— 
jacked up on caffeine and testosterone,  
sporting a backyard haircut and home-sewn mask.  
I walked the same two-and-a-half-mile circuit 
every day: up Sunrise to McCombs, McCombs 
to Radnor, Radnor to Wingate, Wingate to Antioch, Antioch 
to the Bi-Rite grocery and Our Lady of Guadalupe 
and back down Sunrise again.   
The blue blooms of the hydrangeas and the pink blooms  
of the dogwoods came and went.  
I played “Losing My Religion” on repeat. I voted.  
I went to bed each night with yesterday’s cold  
coffee ringing the coffee table. 
I crucified time. 

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S.J. Stover is a fiction writer and poet living in Boston. His writing has appeared in swamp pink and Salon magazine, and he has served as writer in residence at the Good Hart Artist Residency in Michigan. He earned his MFA from Hunter College.