My neighbor and The Donald are
“slobs and phonies and morons
that Holden Caulfield runs into
on his travels,” but, “are, like
Seymour Glass’s Fat Lady, ‘Christ
himself, buddy,’”* and while
as hard as I find that to accept,
I have to if I am to accept that I,
too, am accepted.

*from a meditation by Frederick
Buechner