Sanctimonious Church-Goers
she and he in polished shoes,
his tie she tied like a noose,
sunday's knight,
shining with borrowed grace.
the church bell rings,
like something forgotten it had to say—
they hear it as their anthem.
he's got the Book
tucked under his arm,
pages marked with
sins they swear aren't theirs.
mouth's whisper Solomon's psalms
that their hands have never followed,
but still, they kneel,
all theater and flourish, cheeks flushed.
he sneered at the beggar
on the church steps,
dropping a coin only when
he knew, that someone was watching.
inside, they clasp their hands,
not to pray,
but to shield themselves
from their own insidious reflections.
out they walk,
cleaner than confession,
a god in their own minds,
but the devil's grin
hides behind their lips.
and somewhere,
someone who does believe,
but loves,
sleeps on just fine.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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