More vintage Lydia poetry. I think this one dates back to my preacher's kid days when I was becoming rapidly burned out on it all.
I wear a wrap skirt today -
that way, nobody notices
the legs I didn't shave.
It's a quiet way to rebel.
Sunday service, 9 to 11.
Can you feel God here?
Everybody else does -
Their eyes are closed.
There are coffee and donuts
to eat afterwards. No
cream in the coffee, please.
It'll hurt my stomach.
The best part is lunch -
baby back ribs and, for
dessert, fried bananas
while the grown-ups talk.
God owns the evening service.
It's strange seeing how faces
sag with exhaustion at the end
of the day. A few more songs...
And then we're gone.
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