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To Joey Madia's previous piece

Pew-trid

Mommy, can I go outside?

(Incense burns my gut)
The man with the big nose and his
fat-calfed wife
sings those same holiday hymns
what child is this (whose gut burns?)
	o holy night (won’t you end?)
Where is the folk singer
with her pretty hair and vague guitar
who sings new songs of ancient praise
on summer Sundays?

I do not like this place after dark.

Wasn’t Sunday morning sufficient?
Wasn’t I prayerful?
I think I said to God my say.

Daddy didn’t come—
	(if he did, would I have asked to leave??)

I can see no priests
in latter days
only big-nose and fat-calves
icons, smoke and fancy hats,
all conspiring to make an Impression.

I know now, it was not the incense
that sickened me.

Once out, I never went back in.

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