The day our prayers turned into dogs
The solid labradors of the devout looked down
alike on matted strays so gutter-hungry
and petted poodles, pekinese
with their tail-wagging: please, please, please.
I saw a woman mumbling chihuahuas
and a hospital surrounded by great danes.
When evening came a man came stumbling home
past the low growl of a dozen churches,
kicking the collie at his heel, he climbed the stairs
to his wife, awake, a terrier in her lap.
We really wanted prayers to be retrievers
but mostly they looked back with spaniel eyes,
understanding nothing, precious comfort
as they howled at the moon so far away.