summer church

the air conditioning
has died
in the old church.
we sweat.
we kneel
and wipe our brows.
the robes
sag
on the priest,
the altar boys
tug at their collars.
the lights are dim,
the fans
whirl.
the doors
are open to let
a warm breeze blow
in.
the homily is shortened.
love one another,
he says.
be kind, be good, be
gentle.
the baskets
move quickly from
hand to hand, coins
and dollars
tossed together.
prayers are speeded
up
in the sweltering
air. we can hardly wait
to leave,
there's a lesson here
somewhere.