Nadja Moore

By the altar

I flung my jacket by the altar
undid my tie my squeezed
arteries freed at last
beneath the cross
and the priest
undid my shoes my swollen feet
gasping and smelling
of sweat and progress
hung over an open shirt
I lift up your skirt
and listen to you shriek
I lift you from the earth
and listen to you squeak
like a small dog in the echo
of the church your mother’s
gaping mouth and that big old hat
she’s had since the seventies
at a horse show looking gawky
looking sly in a moment she’ll prepare
her speech she’ll prepare to
reduce you to ashes!
her index finger jittering mid-air
her wobbly skin in a convulsive tremor

hey baby
what do you say we place our cards
on the table and say
I do.

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