the cost of dry cleaning

i never enjoyed church,

despite

believing in nearly

every single

word said.

praying before meals,

before sleep,

before

many things.

every time i've done something

stupid,

i've ended up on my

knees at the side

of the bed, asking for forgiveness

or some sort solution,

which wouldn't

involve me going through

a lot of trouble.

but church was boring.

the rituals.

the up and down of it all,

the hard

pews,

the kneelers.

the smoke and mirrors.

the guilt you felt when

not going,

or not attending the pancake

breakfast.

i cringed as the second 

collection basket

came around.

why don't you sell some of

those gold candle holders

and chalices if

you need the money so bad.

what's the dry cleaning

cost on those gowns?

i wasn't wild about the music

either.

sleepy old standards

from the eighteen hundreds.

they'd put Ambien out of business

if you heard that music

every night.

geez marie.

i've been in many churches,

Baptist,

Catholic,

Lutheran,

and even attended a Pentacostal

meeting once,

which gave me

the shivers

as people rose and spoke

in tongues, jumping around

like Mexican jumping beans,

full of something,

but i couldn't believe it was God.

it felt like something

else.