This is a matter of faith – what is
what is not provable – a gob of spit
in the face of certainty.

I watch a beautiful woman with long dark hair
standing in front of her philosophy class.
She says, “There’s no God, you imbeciles.
You’re a moron if you think there is.”

“Are you sure?”

She says, “There’s not one iota of proof.”

“Are you sure?”

She says, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

I listen to a short young lady in her class
with black hair and thick black framed glasses.
She says, “There is a God, you imbecile.
You’re a moron if you think there isn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

She says, “All of creation is a joyous testament to his greatness.”

“Are you sure?”

She says, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

I feel my smile crack
on their impenetrable heads
as I slip quietly out of the thick idiocy of the room
nauseated by their certainty.