By the Rideau river, on this lazy,
Still Sunday evening, cars either drive by
Swiftly, or slowly turn in here at the
Mall parking lot, coming in twos and threes.
You’d think they were going to the movies,
But no, all the cars facing a make-do
Stage have their windows wide open for church:
It’s drive-in night for Bethel Pentecostal.
Although it might seem odd, it is much like
The service in the morning; members, &
Any passing adherent, would know the
Liturgy. A short prayer, followed by
Two of Wesley’s Greatest Hits, then that day’s
Bulletin, then another hymn, then a
Sermon, the speaker’s words echoing off
The mall storefronts, & mixing with drive-thru
Orders at the burger place. And when he
Has wished perfect peace, the cars line up to
Leave by the one marked exit, some dropping
Bills into big KFC buckets, &
Some joking that they ‘gave at the office.’
As the cars meander out, in no real
Rush, by a now sound-asleep river, you
Wonder if these clear pictures in your mind
Will seem like a relic, a romance, some
Thing no longer true, like a flat earth. Will
Scholars have to painfully (step-by-step)
Reconstruct this for their bored students? In
An eon, will the man who goes to church
Appear quaint, as the savage, angry at
The rain god, seems to us? Or will they check
That smirk, & notice the single burning
Drive pushing the poet, artist & the
Cars in their neat rows, to be around for
The birth & death of any tree, to run
With rivers, to keep eyes always open,
And above all, to be something present,
Never in the past or forgotten? And
No setting sun behind oceans would mean
A premonition for us, since Eden
Could move from the beginning of the world
To being here, now and tomorrow, a
Garden for people truly free. They would
Soar as high as those lazy, bored crows did,
In & out of the shadows of the mall
Parking lot, seemingly indifferent
To tonight’s text—the future of love, &
A hushed peace, passing all understanding.
. . .
A collection of his poems is being published by Sakura Publishing due for release this fall.
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