Salvation’s Lie

slamming screen door
kicked off soiled shoes

freckles turned to buckshot
from her double-barreled cross

baby, upon boy, over unsuspecting man
planting damage, within defect, after birth

lungs and pockets emptied by churchly angels
sins of the flesh hacked to pieces

waxy tears drip on five cakes a year, now six
lit up on the 4th of July, bottles but no rockets

holiday turkey frozen solid
while she thaws in detox

invisible fallout explained away, forgiven
by the polyester / cotton blend of accountant-turned-therapist

putrid stench of interior rot
shrouded by incense, seduction, and garage sale revivals

tented bridges burn
wagon wheels spin

salvation and escapes lie, lurking
in shadows behind the offering

© 2010 Rita Doyle Roberts

This entry was posted in Writings.