Zeal
The evangelist
comes to the fairgrounds
with his big tent,
his Band of Angels choir.
He prays
for us sinners and
screams
for us fornicators and
wails
for all the damned souls
he sees
not only there in the tent
but later,
dancing in the flames
with Old Beelzebub
stoking the fire
from his pail of coals.
Those sisters
sing for our salvation
while plates and hats
are passed and
everyone
puts in their guilt.
And some
who are moved
by conviction and terror
file down front
to claim the Lamb
as their own.
Thunderous music.
The newly saved
wave at us gayly,
laugh
as they light
the barbecue
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