Evangelists in my hometown bang tambourines,
clap hands, abuse scripture.
Arrows blink on roadside signs,
coding messages for the faithful,
“Explore the Invisible Face of Christ
In these backwoods basilicas,
plywood rumbles under humble feet.
and sparks leap from the tongues
of garnet-faced preachers,
molding God from Man’s crude mirror.
They tell me that God is everywhere,
weighing our sins.
Pointing with His Righteous Finger,
He watches the fornicators, and He judges.
What a strange Voyeur! sneering and jealous.
If I were God, I would leave
the lovers to themselves.
I would turn devils into custard,
and I would live only in baklava,
sprawling between layers of honey,
crisp dough and walnuts,
daring, with My Buttery Finger,
those preachers to bite Me.
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.