There’s a crash outside the church
and bodies in the road,
a flood of blood, the sirens cry,
and god is just a goad.
To die in shadows of the cross
seems ethically untoward.
The master’s out of bandages,
he only owns a sword.
A priest is standing in the street.
He offers up a prayer.
But save the space, delete, erase.
It seems the dead don’t care.