some people are only religious when they see Mary
on the corner with a heart-wet mouth. h a i l Mary,
full of avian bones and candy wrappers they pick up
that you never see get thrown
won’t you be mine?
perhaps. she makes them think of their mother
smart and streetwise
with all those invisible skirts and ankles
or perhaps the cradle where it all went
down hill; it’s all downhill from there
from birth to showers of sparks
to final scenes fading to black
the camera now pans to an inky bedroom
where you’d cry out and somebody
would always come (or cry too?)
or maybe you used to pray there
like a wound by a candle
no one ever listened to you
— why would ‘they’? —
no one is there.
and that’s okay.
i’m comfortable with that
like sharks are in…
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