Love Down for the Next

The good thing with you
Is you won’t read us.

When we were on show
For those who would know

Who they were in us,
We looked dressed for church,

For a small, dull church
Of straight-backed chairs, tile,

Blank glass and blank stares,
Blue hair, like that church

Where love was preached, then
Put back in its grave

Each week to be saved.
We weren’t hymns. We weren’t

Scared of God and Hell.
We were there for show

And scared of that grave
For God they kept there,

Not-dead God of love,
Dug up each week, then

Shoved down for the next,
Poor love, short of breath.