Miracles

I went out drinking

but I don’t feel ill,

so maybe it’s a minor miracle

like when I lost my phone at the Cider Bus

and somebody handed it in,

although making lame men walk

is more impressive.

Still,

I’ll write a letter to the Pope

and hope he opens it,

I might not be canonised

but at least I’m wearing

a crash helmet.

People talk about childbirth

like they’re not turned off

by the blood and gore,

but life ain’t like a slasher flick

and I would like

my money back.

More miraculous

is the way three chords

make so much music,

and even though

you haven’t met someone,

you can see inside their head

and their heart.

I eat miracles for breakfast,

best served with milk

and a sprinkle of sugar.

Miracles taste

like apple pie.