By CL Bledsoe
Behind a wooden alter, white-robed old
men who smelled like fried chicken lectured
us about the sins of our minds. A pool
of greenish-blue water stagnated beside them.
They claimed it held the secrets to our salvation,
if only we’d let them dip us in with their shaking
arms. When the singing woke us, we begged
to go to the bathroom, and searched the otherwise
empty building. We explored every door, climbed
to the balcony looking for something worth finding
while in the other room, our neighbors
smiled politely and damned us to hell.