Sunday

Sunday morning
The streets are bare
No one stirring anywhere
Except the churches
Lively, sing
The people praise
The bells will ring
And everyone else
Is still in bed
The day of rest
They'll rest their heads

Until near noon
When they'll come out
And go shopping
Hear them shout
For open doors
And open stores
To praise low prices
Purchase spices
Raise their voices

Make a shrine
To the divine
New products
That have just come out
False idols
Are these idle minds
Fill holes in hearts
With brand new blinds
And LCD screens
Blu-ray players
Jelly beans
Living room chairs

Worship corporate
Material might
Claim that they have found the light
Live the rat race
Covet, greed
Forget about people in need
Trample others underfoot
On Black Friday
And if they could
For the new I-Pad
Just came out
I don't know what
The fuss is about

Sunday morning
The streets are bare
No one stirring anywhere
I walk slowly through the town
Curtains closed, the blinds are down
The trees they whisper songs to me
I stop to watch a busy bee
In a pink flower hard at work
The birds are singing
Ants pile dirt

The city is alive to me
Each stretch of lawn, garden, and tree
These are my secret sanctuary
In my home upon the prairie
The streets are silent
No one stirs
As if I am alone in this world
Sunday morning
The streets are bare
No one stirring anywhere