Their ephemeral temples look much the same In a semi-circle the faithful sit or stand And turn their eager faces to an altar flood-lit To be magicked by their leaders and gods
They wave their arms in ecstasy and awe While lantern-slides of flags and martyred heroes Ripple as electronic waves beamed into their eyes Commanding free obedience through spontaneous scripts
At dawn
Contractors will tear away the plywood and paint Take down the plastic statues and columns The recordings of programmed emotions And heave them into the beds of rented trucks
Preaching or politics, or some other game: Their ephemeral temples look much the same