One K and an H

by Wolf Layzer

There are so many Rebekahs
with one K and an H now.
And they all are writers
or something, what the hell?
I was published with one.
Her story was about
a boss at Red Lobster.
I liked it. It was pretty okay.

I was published by one.
Actually, I think that’s not true.
She might’ve left the magazine
before they took my work,
but I like to think
she would have liked it
and nodded her approval
with a pumpkin latte at her lips.
Not drinking it,
but holding it there,
like a finger saying, “Shush baby,
one day, you’re gonna be a star.”

There’s another one in my poetry workshop.
She uses words wrong all the time.
She used to work at Hooters.
She does a strange voice when she’s reading.
My friend calls it her “Sexy
Colonel Sanders voice.”

Where the hell have these Rebekahs all been?
And why do I know about them now?
What is it you’re trying to tell me, Lord?
Is it something about Isaac or Esau?
And what about that writing connection?
Tell me, Lord, is The Da Vinci Code real?

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