Good Friday at the cardboard cathedral

a prayer

Enguerrand Quarton - Pietà of Villeneuve-lès-Avignon

rain, and far-off sirens

as we sit and pray in silence

this grand empty space

barely a dozen of us clustered before the pulpit

I’m the odd one out here

the only non-geriatric

the cross looms over us

but it’s not an unpleasant presence

this used to be a thing we all did

and what now do the young of us worship?

money, and status

and sex, and pleasure

and ego

and ego

yes, the Church is a pub now

and Mecca is a place to buy makeup

irony is the name of the game and

to have conviction is a sign of weakness

while I sit, praying

some pathetic part of me embarrassed to be here

to feel like a part of something

bigger than myself

wish I could just melt away

into the infinite Godhood

and leave this weak shell behind

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