the ice is black and slippery, the streets have no names,
the boulevard is busy and you have nowhere to go.
Short sleeved with barely a winter coat you shiver
as you make your way to the church with
Mussolini on the ceiling, Adam and Eve wearing their
grape leaves, the Pope on high above his
confused disciples and all the vestal virgins surrounding
Mary in her angelic repose.
We pray to your Lord to take you gently, effortlessly
in the night. We turn to shake the hands of our neighbors
in the pews in front and behind. We watch you shuffle up
to take your communion wafer, mouth the words of a prayer
you no longer recognize. Still you are there, you are here among
us, your little abominations.