Dear Pastor Phelps

Hold your sign and scream at me
And I’ll scream right back, honey.
Picketing soldier’s funerals doesn’t
Make what you believe the truth.
You’re so sure about your ‘elect’ness
But I’m sure about my God’s love.
I wish I could sit down with you over
A cuppa and talk and talk and talk.
Where are you from? Who is your
Family? Who do you love? What
Is significant in your life? Can you
Tell me your life story? Please?
Because standing on either side of
This street, with respective signage
And screams won’t change either of
Our minds. Can I listen to you? Will
You talk instead of preach? Will you
Listen, in turn, to what I have to say?
Next time I’m in Kansas, I’ll look you

Up and find out.