Excuse me, friend, who stopped to hear
This story plain, no frills to sell.
It sounds like something easy told,
But lingers longer than it should dwell:
Sidewalk talk, a table worn,
A glass, a pause, an honest stare.

No sermon here, no promised land,
No speech prepared for any crowd.
Just gentle words amid the noise,
Spoken low, not spoken loudly.
Whoever joins this kind of talk
Leaves thinking more than when they came.

If God were willing just to hear
What folks keep locked behind their chest,
He’d pull a chair and sit right down,
No script, no halo, no address.
This is Joe from down the road,
With weathered sense and calloused thought.

Hey God—if you’re the kind they say
Belongs to this hard-headed land,
Come a little closer now,
Sit right here, don’t just stand.
I’ve got some heavy questions, Lord,
Small enough for this old mug.

You know how tough it is to live
On hope that breaks before it grows.
Promises dress up real nice,
Then die before the truth shows.
We learn the hard way, every time,
How to fall—and stand again.

I don’t ask for miracles,
No fortune, mansion, gold or fame.
Just give a quiet nudge or two
To straighten out the crooked game:
Let the law see every face
And look at all with equal eyes.

You know the lines, the counters too,
The stamps that never come out right.
That missing paper every time
A poor man asks for what is right.
If you can, Lord, help shorten
This long, unfair waiting dock.

In politics, I’ll say it straight,
I’m tired of yelling into air.
Flags everywhere, but solid ground
Is something hard to find down there.
If you can, teach the folks at home
To think before they start to fight.

I love my team, I suffer long
Until a win comes crawling in.
But I know a ball won’t save a soul
Or pay the price of daily sin.
It lifts the heart for just a while,
But it won’t cover supper costs.

If you laugh along with us tonight,
That alone would suit me fine.
A thoughtful laugh, when shared in truth,
Can fix more wrongs than we define.
Worse than losing your own way
Is thinking you’re already right.

Don’t let hatred turn into
A job, a badge, a sacred cause.
Don’t turn opinions into faith
With no room left for doubt or pause.
Disagreeing with respect
Is still a quiet revolution.

And if you leave without a sign,
No trumpet blast, no holy flame,
At least leave scattered on the floor
A bit of common sense by name:
Less shouting in each other’s ears,
More hands at work upon the ground.

Signed by the one who spoke tonight:
Zé from Brazil—that’s who I am.
Life taught me early how to doubt
Big names, loud vows, and shiny plans,
Tall promises that never land,
And truths that fade as fast as smoke.

And if someone finds it strange
This kind of talk inside a bar,
I’ll say it plain, without a twist,
So no one wonders where we are:
It’s not that God is missing, friend—
It’s judgment we forgot to use.

— Palmarí H. de Lucena