Mass

I can't bring myself to follow you into church
the smell of incense and my own anxiety
lines of people waiting for heaven
staring at my good black shoes on the carpet
and the way the candle flames dance
despite the cold, dry air
The priest wears crisp, white robes
I hear him talking, though I don't listen
He chants soothingly about salvation
And like a snake charmer
coaxes thin green bills from peoples pockets