The racket on the street draws their
Black eyes to the sunshine
Away from the simple sermon
Of how to be wholly unsaved.

Widow Johanson’s cryin’ again
Her tears propped up by long years of being alone
And too much hairspray.

As the pastor touches her face with the
Fingers of God, hummin' hymns
The children watch the sunshine wane,
The sounds of the church organ
Playin’ loud to cover the
Divine blast of noise from the
Outside.

::mina::