Costco, Sunday, 145 pm

So many have come from church, that’s clear enough—
A black man in a nice blue suit, for one
His wide tie splitting his shirt like the Red Sea

I imagine he spent the morning speaking in tongues,
But the holy still need to eat, so we wade together through the flow of Baptists in their polyester, like wading through reeds, avoiding the remarkable uniformity of their pot-bellies and goatees

There are certainly worse fates than settling into middle life with the good book by the bedside and swimming occasionally with other streams of saints, all here to save a buck,
In the prophetic wisdom of bulk shopping to mark a holy Sabbath

But among the throng I find a woman—no saint, perhaps—in her pajamas,
And the only one among us all who looks quite happy:
She stands before a Halloween display of ghouls and ghosts, but it is
The effigy of a skeleton, demonized with red flashing lights for eyes, issuing a dark and brooding "trick or treat" out of a mis-timed metal mouth, its scythe as sharp as plastic will allow,
Which captures her delight

She stands smiling, a happy glint of red reflected in her eyes
At the crossroads of cliché and capitalism and the parodied imaginings of dark things come to life, which show us that we are actually alive
And that miracles abound on every side

The world of scrimping sainthood swirls around her
But she is profligate in her generosity—she not only looks but sees
As people push their carts around her, angling for the next free sample
Deciding what exactly to buy and how quickly they can return
To their happy, holy lives