Strange Cathedrals

They gather in strange cathedrals;
They worship many gods.

There is a church
where congregants buzz
under an Open sign.
Three times daily, they offer
forbidden pig
in caffeinated communion.
A grease rag mops pews
of Formica and vinyl.

There is another shrine,
a different one,
where gifts of tithing
are rewarded with metal carts
heaped with socks,
transmission fluid and hotdogs.
It should be noted
that this church has split
into two factions:
blue vests and red circles.

In one aphotic cathedral,
the blackness is cut
by large flickering effigies.
Corn-based libations
require consumption
by all churchgoers.

A secret chapel offers
exclusive seating for elders only.
Glitter clings to sweat
and preachers twirl tassels
like helicopters.
It is customary for devotees
to tuck green papers
directly into the vestments
of the ministers.

Lindsey Walker is originally from Chattanooga and currently lives in Seattle, where she studies creative writing. She has won the Loft Poetry Contest, the Marcia Barton Award for fiction and the national prize for best essay from the League for Innovation. Her poetry has been published most recently by PigeonBike and Quantum Poetry Magazine and will be featured in upcoming editions of the Red River Review and the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her short fiction can be found online at Dew on the Kudzu, the Steel Toe Review and in the upcoming edition of Luna Station Quarterly.

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