Good Times

Cold light of dusk
illuminated through
these stained glass windows.
Candles lit for saints and sinners
cast dancing shadows
on the marbled aisles.
Prayers for lost souls,
mumbled in archaic prose
to heighten sense
of magic and reverence.

Genuflection.
      Sign of the Cross.
               Body of Christ.
      Blood of Christ
Soul of Man

The burnt rag smell
of incense, smoulders.

The creak
of the confessional door
counterpoints
the three Hail Marys
penance for the wicked child
who cannot understand
what sin is
because there are so many
he could choose from.

If you don’t value life,
if you don’t fear God,
then it’s easy to lie
to the stupid priests
because you don’t want to
go to heaven
you just want to
go to headlines
so you sharpen knives
and wait

until
the twisted form
of a child
slouches
towards Bethlehem
to meet
his maker.