Since they have incited me with a “no-god,”
And provoked me with their empty idols
I will incite them with a “no-people”;
With a foolish nation I will provoke them.
— Deuteronomy 32:21
Man’s molded image is God’s gold,
glory. Indelible likeness; man’s mark.
Though wide wings outstretched,
impatient, the brood flees
for another hen.
Priests and priestesses behind the altar,
under the fluorescent-lit ciborium
celebrate their arcane mysteries,
flooding the temple with odors
of oily incense.
Supplicant crowds offer their earrings to
Levites; tapping the QR in propitiation,
they wait for words of consecration,
that four-digit verba:
John—Christ’s wild forerunner. Likewise
dappled calves point to breaded birds.
Signature sauce baptized and
GrubHub scripture scoured,
now born anew.
Indefinite white veils torn to shreds, a rooster
crows. Kyphosis plagued, yet they dance
in anointed ecstasy ‘round the
deep friers’ abyss, chanting:
Eat Mor Chikin.