Saturday Night Masses.

Saturday Night Masses.

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They come to worship

In a communion of

wine and song.

<>

 

The Saturday night

masses gather weekly

to celebrate the breaking

of the bread in thier pockets

that they've earned,

from the sweat

of their brows.

<>

 

They line up for a

bit of liquid salvation

from the taxations of life,

hoping to escape the hell

of drudgery by taking some shots

at achieving a higher

level called limbo.

 <>

 

None are barred here

except the very young

innocence and debauchery

are not a mix for drinking.

<> 

 

The faithful flock here

to forget their sins in the

wail of a choir of voices

shrill with excitement

freshly brewed.

<>

Their prayers are

toasts accompanied by

the clink of glasses and

wishes that seldom come true.

 

<>

On the marble and

chrome lined shelves,
stand the elixirs of the gods.
Sealed and corked,
their heady offerings
are reflected in
a vast mirror

behind them.

 <>


Folks genuflect

to their power,

baptized one splash at a time
as they squat on red vinyl stools
that are their pew,

before the altar

of their nirvana.

 

<>


They tithe thier

meager wealth,
to ingest small amounts
of pleasure doled out
as the tender pours
precisely measured doses
of heavenly bliss.

 

<>

 

©-MFB III

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