On the corner there is one way
and that is Jesus Christ our lord.
In the bar there are chicken wings
called Satan's Revenge.
The church ladies park in the handicapped spot,
wearing feathered hats, eating their french fries
and counting their change so carefully.
The workers in bright orange coveralls
descend a ladder beneath the earth.
One performs the sign of the cross.
The rivers beneath us trickle through
the pipes. There are no alligators
but it is dark and to forget
is a danger.
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