General Conference by Jakob Chapman

Run, run, run!
I can because George is open
I can run because my bishop does not take attendance
it is not a question he asks—directly
when I see him every two years;
yes or no is more like a batting average
anyway

Run, run, run!
my iPod may look like a radio—
sleek portable religion
I can fit in my pocket
like the ten commandments written on a pebble
so small you need a microscope
to read, “Thou Shalt Not Kill”
but it is not a radio
it is an iPod
and I can listen to Johnny Cash
everywhere I go
if it was a Sansa
it would have a radio
and I could half-listen to MoTab’s
interludes
but it is not a Sansa
it is an iPod
more fashionable

Run, run, run!
obey the word of wisdom
with wicked exercise
I am thirty-five and in my prime
and I have to run while I still have knees
it already hurts to kneel;
I don’t like the feeling of Berber on my skin
the way it prickles

Run, run, run
around the indoor track
trying to decide
what exactly I am running from