Shoes

"Bow your heads and pray for
God's blessing."
A thousand heads drop systematically and
Two thousand eyes stare at
Two thousand feet
Twitching slightly
To the tired rhythm of monotony.

What if vines wrapped round the columns, and birds sang in the choir? I wonder then if we might lift our heads, to beg
-No laugh-
With God's blessing.

So tired I lay in bed but soon hear
Santa's reindeer pounding heavy hooves upon my roof
-our roof-
I spring to the window
And I watch the skies fill up with
Sparks of mirth
His harp strings pulled almost to
The point of breaking-
Oh happy almost
Extremes and saves
And limits
With which
He toys
We giggle
like children- the animals and I-
At the thunder and the lightening
At the adventures
Me and all that isn't
Me and all outside of
Me.

But open and we trudge through another speech dripping with cliches and
Forced laughter
With lies
With everything we've already heard
With careless, reckless handling
Of the beautiful
And I long to run to where I may no longer stare at my feet.
Where I can chase the sleighbells
I keep hearing.

So I think as I lie in bed next to people I don't know
People I can't talk to
People who don't hear the
Footsteps on the roof.
I lay still, afraid to wake them
With my cough so judgmental
My shifting, such a burden-
I don't sleep, so they may sleep
In their misconceptions and
Boring adult-versions of play pretend and dress up-
Valedictorians and deacons
Girls with pomp and circumstance
Wrapped around their
Pretty eyes and bulging cleavage
In their connections and their
alcohol they hide.
Too old to be kids without it.
Hangovers heavy trudging into an ugly church in our ugly clothes
We bow on command
For sunday's duty of the masses
And we sigh as we pray to our
Shoes.