The Church Play

Halleluiah chorus
of car horns
wakes me from my
forgot-to-set-the-alarm
on a two-show day
for the church play
wakes me from the
glory glory goodness
of my bed
sweet babylon, musing on
this offering of souls
to whom is it made
this ceremony of theatre
these rituals by rote:
on stage, on a word
            a chair moves
            an actor cries
off stage, with no word
            a prop is passed
            a zipper assist;
performing this Mass
we dream cowards and kings
when voices are raised
in a humble black box
are we speaking to God
or do we deny Him
make our offering
to our friends in the room
while He stands leaning
near the back row
in shadows
all-seeing and unseen?