I never knew your mother.
According to house rules she filled
churches with garbled tantrums of
political candy.
Sometimes chocolate,
other times yeasty, she
cancelled without violence the
restless boils found
fidgeting in the pews.
No one knew of her until
saint-driven Cadillacs appeared to
glory her away, high in the sky but
low to the road.
Today her heartbeat
pounds with barbaric thunder,
exporting its
delusions into
priests’ homilies and
criminals’ excuses.
You never knew her either.
