the shingles are falling
from the steeple on the old church
down the street.
for weeks,
they have sat on the concrete
like a congregation of discarded beliefs.
i see the dressed people
every sunday
coming in
and going out.
you can always hear someone singing in gospels
like the building is burning down.
almost every night
i walk the dogs by this church,
when everything is quiet,
but the other night
i witnessed some lady standing by the back door,
drinking a tallboy,
waiting
for something else to arrive.
