Made in China

Written by: Geoffery McHugh

I see a savior everywhere, I see
a prophet everyday, shining purple through the faces of
Teachers, Stockmen, Welders, Prostitutes.

Those halogens shine, pilot lights burning bright in 
Cyan, Magenta, Hunter green and Mauve, stained-glass
saints made free from that flat and veined dimension.

Those are
Figurines, 
translucent they bear before them brushes and 
cisterns filled with lamb's blood, marking 
the houses of the unlucky as they pass-

(they walk on hallowed ground not a place for me they walk with heads held high eyes up to 
the sky contemplating visions I am not blessed enough to see)

Hushed voices in oaken pews speak
litany and mumble
Hymn, while doomed players act out the
stations of the cross within the
Lavish temple.

Ah!
see this rimmed with gold and platinum:
A chorus made for angles of war and angles of peace rides upon the 
heavy air, gliding
upwards from the ladies choir.

I suspect that if Gabriel or Michael were to lend an ear and hear them, tears
would  pour out from the heavens, covering the
world in a second flood, and

Once again, our 
bastion of hope would land on Ararat, but 
this time it would be a super-tanker.