Sydney Holley

Sunday mornings are for

Church I just remembered

as Mr. Turquoise or Mr. Aqua,

whichever catches the eye more-

he removed his shoes at the

door, cleansing them of the dirt

and grime on the bottom before

entering the holy house on

second street.

This was pure repentance,

a polite gesture on his part.

I’ve only seen this baby blue house

of God strung out from the

alleyways, salience in these proverbs

And designer drugs, a scarlet A

On my blouse. I’m already not

wearing undergarments, it’s

impurity and debauchery at best

and autumn trees without fruit are

among us.

We know this from Jude

and the preaching of restoration and


The world is not for

you to abuse, I read:

Solemnize Sabbath Day

even if you can not recall last night

or the one before

All you know is that it’s been a little

chilly outside. There is-

No god before me.

No god before me, never take the

name in vain and that’s what Mr.

Turquoise or Mr. Aqua believed.

We are saved if we sip our Sunday

wine and cleanse our shoes at the door