“Missouri” by David Thompson
Breakfast With Christians
We were 15 years old then,
as smooth babies,
singing for the congregation.
The music flew from our 4 mouths
in blue and silver streams, pure,
the chords of “O Holy Night”
sung over a hard plunked organ.
We held hands as we sang,
dressed in our skirts and blouses,
panty hose, and shiny shoes.Amen! A-men.
out of the church’s back door
to smoke a cigarette
or I would hustle off
to kiss boys
Then I would quietly return to my pew,
bow my head,
and listen to the pastor say those loud,
10 years later,
after our lives had bent
into curious and separate formations,
we reunited to have a catch-up breakfast.
I had spent the night before
at a party in a trailer park,
swigging Captain Morgan shots and hitting
the beer bong with fierce tenacity.
Over their gooey eggs, the three other ladies
spoke of their perfect children,
and perfect prayer meetings.
I excused myself from the table
and went outside to smoke a cigarette,
in the cold morning air.