Old witchy, white women

and old, bitchy, gay men

team up to create the haze,

the confusion of peace at any price

and rise in the murky waters as

big fish in a very small stream.

Symbiotic swim anyone?

What a team!

Old, angry women, tugging coattails no more,

secure the power they have been looking for

and scared, insecure, old men just want

everything to be so nice if just a bore.

The pond is poisoned; there is room for all no more;

all accepted, no exceptions – Really? Please!

The little congregation

is not the ship on the stormy seas,

but a fumy farm pond full of dis-ease

as fishy fish tails swish

and toxic bubbles rise

in the breeze.

“Stand for the Call to Worship,”

the smug, leader calls

with a smirky,

smile. The congregation

stands, oh, so self-pleased.

but oh, so self-deceived.

And Jesus peers in through

a broken, stained

glass window pane

and says, “Father,

forgive them for they

know not what they

do.”