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Saturday Night Masses.

Updated on January 5, 2010

Saturday Night Masses.

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They come to worship

In a communion of

wine and song.

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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.

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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.

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None are barred here

except the very young

innocence and debauchery

are not a mix for drinking.

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The faithful flock here

to forget their sins in the

wail of a choir of voices

shrill with excitement

freshly brewed.

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Their prayers are

toasts accompanied by

the clink of glasses and

wishes that seldom come true.

 

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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.

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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.

 

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They tithe thier

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

 

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©-MFB III

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