Jesus Cancels His Amazon Account

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I should have done it a long time ago,
when they shipped a single mustard seed

wrapped in seven layers of plastic
inside a box big enough for a cedar of Lebanon,

or when they delivered my chisel and plane,
again, to the wrong carpenter’s shop

with a brazen doorstep photo to prove it.
I managed to live a literal eternity

without one-clicking my way
through every tunic, millstone, and wine cask, 

and, verily, I can do it again.
There is something so freeing

about buying locally sourced sparrows:
looking the shopkeeper in the eye

as we nod and brush hands. 
Sure, those birds cost more than two 

for a penny, but their feathers shine brighter, 
they fly a little higher, and I’ve got more 

important things than money to save.