The English Church

I went with the Warlord
To the Big English Church
To start the Holy War
On Christmas.

I’d been to three churches that day
At each There’d been a different note played
Of the same Ancient hymn
That we heard on the Pipes that evening.

The stain glassed windows
Showed their colors only in shades of grey
And their shapes were no longer biblical
I pictured the crusades in their fuzzy night-time look.

There was an Operative there
In a long Red Jacket
With black lips
And purple under her eyes.

She looked degenerate
And I was sad to say I knew her.
She was one of the people who harassed Grandma
Because I heard her talk about her once.