MY SECRET PRAYER

               

    Strange, super-human powers
        I possess.
        I know what's hidden, where,
            and I can guess your history
                from your breath,
            and what things weigh.
    My ears can hear a rip
        from rooms away.
    I know what's in your frige,
        your cart, your bag.
        What's missing from a shelf,
        what's on a rag.   
        Pie diagrams
            my inner eye divides.
    I never asked for this.
        Beside I'm powerless.
    I fret to see folks frown.
            Observed alone,
            a guest, or on the town       
        they think me rude.
             "What nerve!" "What gall!"
        They watch me stare
            and drool and scheme
                at all that's gulped or
                sucked or licked or bit and chewed
    I pray then:
         "Thank you, God,
            that's not my food."