Christian Camp Circus by Casey Aimer

When I was twelve

god to me was a slicked-hair-man

with stubble so perfect I could cut

confessionals across the bristles.

Because the christian rock band

at church camp in ‘05

made god trendy.

During each service we let

guitarists play our emotions,

prayed to jesus alongside

the holiest of chords:

C, G, Em, and D.

Swaying us like bedside rosaries

they strummed once every two

seconds, kept god’s pulse

pumping inside our minds.

I watched the pastor raise his bible

glaring at my 90-pound frame,

his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt

curling around spreading diaphragm:

Announce your confession!

Hell is moments away

but salvation

is closer!

My mouth replied it is time

in the pitch of E minor

as guitar solos launched

orchestrating my steps toward the aisle,

guiding me like snakes to an altar.

The smiles of my friends informed me

that this is what they wanted,

how this moment of mine

finally belonged to god almighty.

That must mean for me

god only speaks in Morse code

through 4/4 drum beats,

shows his face through

rock ‘n’ roll fog machines,

is solely summoned by sacrificing

vocal chords through amplified sound.

When I reached the marriage altar

and pastor’s outstretched hands

—the guitars cut—

arms I couldn’t resist with soaring vocals

to the tune of “I stand for you”

led me behind a velvet curtain

where a camp volunteer sat waiting.

He grinned like a holy charlatan

declaring next week my baptism

would be the talk of the town.

I replied to him I believe

because I was trained to do so.

But in that instrumental moment

they groomed me my entire life for

I heard in return—nothing.

No holy spirit voice,

no spontaneous spiritual gift,

no one entering my heart

and taking up residence.

My soul was not a

reusable zip-

lock bag

for a

god.

But I still became a good fake boy

for twelve more years.

Every Sunday night I remember

blank verse crumbling from my mouth

in the rhyme scheme of silence,

the pastor shouting as I exit:

Don’t forget to remember god’s voice.

Make sure you buy my CD.

Casey Aimer holds a Poetry MFA from Texas State and a Prose BA from Texas A&M University. He is currently pursuing a Master of Professional Studies in Publishing at The George Washington University. During the day he works for a non-profit publishing high-impact scientific research articles, and by night he writes alongside his wife. He is the co-founder of Radon Journal and has previously been published in Ars Medica, The Fictional Café, Toyon Literary Magazine, Inwood Indiana Press, and more. Raised Southern Baptist, he is now proudly and happily an agnostic-atheist.