... the sunday 09:05
collects its first congregation
with heads hung over
not so smart screens
doling out dopamine desires
from a thick wifi soup
in this irradiated tin can
aimed approximately at a city
where i will meet
the catholic mother
grieving her dead child;
the pugilistic vishnu
draped in poverty,
wrapped in wrath;
the road sweeper
who will confide
incredible conspiracies
to anyone with ears
to hear;
the stooped grey gent
inclined towards misunderstanding;
the addicted youth with tears
of blood in her eyes
-each falling short
of the grand illusion
-and the woman who said,
"I was saved by someone like you"
I will add these testimonies to others
shared quietly on that city's street
where later a final chariot
will conduct its evening service
to drive me back home
at the end of another
blessed day
© copyright Russell Cavanagh