And pew by pew, they shuffle up
In stoic homage, cane in hand
Or awkward reverence, drudging forth
I dare not rise to join the train
Of human need, of appetites
That crave the air, that lust the sun
That knock on wood to trap a nymph
That find a god within a waif.

And others, likewise, stay as well
A few old-maids who cannot walk
Yet others more than capable
I think, “Maybe the night before…
They ****** their sister’s married friend
Perhaps they stole their neighbor’s TIMES
Or sabotaged their best-friend’s plan
Got drunk and cursed and fought their dad
Or maybe even killed a man…”

And yet they’re sober enough now
Beneath the stained-glassed reddened light
That slants before the multitudes
Sober enough to fear what’s done
To touch, to taste, the burning bread
With sweaty palms, or slobbering tongues

And all at once a feeling swells
A kinship for those left behind
Who gaze upon these rising rows
Yet still remain for all to see
Just how deprived they truly are
Now those who’ve fed and drunk return
Crossing themselves, they kneel to pray


The holy hymnal spreads its wings.