Stand in dusty pew and listen
through cracked stained glass, hear
bellows of bike corpse peddlers
under glassy sky with loud sirens
that pierce the mindful silence
of a downtown service riddled with
seemingly thoughtful reflection.

Nose and eyes, I am dripping
from my face I am grabbing
at my stomach to keep it from
screaming out, to keep it from
disrupting city noise and
undiscussed knee touching and
squinted side glances.

In some corner in some alley somewhere
a young boy cowers, covered in dirt
and takes a long swig from a bottle of cheap rye.