For a few years in college
I lived across from this church
And every Sunday morning
When I was alive enough to wake up
From the first of the church’s bells
I would begrudgingly wrap myself
In my comforter force my feet to
Flop on the frigid floor and walk
To my front door
I pushed through the half-on-it’s-hinges-screen
Sat on my porch lit up a smoke-and watched
The parade of cars unloading
Women in too tall heels
Pushing them higher above hell
Men in their dress shoes shined
Into mirrors for the heavens
And like a much more bitter
but surely a just as hungover Noah
I watched them as I counted off all the couples
And I wondered how they must feel
Just for that 40 to 60 second stroll
From their car doors to the bow of the chapel
And the worst part of me
The part that belongs hidden from
Social niceties and common social civilities
Thought they must be so smug
Them thinking along this walk that
They are the saved ones
That the ones like me have certainly missed the boat
But always after thinking that the part of me
Aware of my own spitefulness the peacekeeper
Of my temperamental nature
Adds how nice it must be to be a simple animal
Filing into a sanctuary of hope
Where they believe they will be kept dry
In a world where sinners like me are soaking wet
Then again the worse part of me finds humor in that
All of these thoughts usually pass through in enough time
For all the patrons to pile in and the last bell sound
And my worst part, the part that finds humor in grit
Made me laugh out a puff of fresh smoke
And think but how is my cigarette still lit