As holy Bacchic rituals
float vague across my mind,
I look ahead and twiddle
my thumb with one behind.

As pagan prayers of Christians
are recited in my head,
I look up and feel a droplet;
I wish that I was dead,

for as pagan Bacchic rites
form paintings before my eyes,
I can’t help but let one trickle;
this was not my planned demise.