Queen and the Queen of the Christian College Girls

Last night, Adam mimed his hands
to describe a Tibetan bowl that is sung into
and is believed to purify its contained water.
I said cool
emptying my amber beer into the basin
of my abdomen and saying that I believed
music is spiritual without
a capital s, whatever that means.

A group of girls was sitting at the nearest dense wood
pub table.  One of them, her hair maroon like a leather belt
made out of Bible covers, turned toward our group
when many madcap singers overpowered the jukebox:

carry on, carry on
as if nothing really mattered.

She sang along mutely, her dark red locks dangling
as if her head was a knotted throne of weeping
willow branches, that a solitary young girl
was struggling to climb.

I was singled out for being
single and she pitched herself over.

I didn’t want to talk.
She was from a nearby Christian college
and was not supposed to be where she was.
She said the word Fuck and I didn’t laugh.
She said my name was boring and laughed.
Hers was Rosie I think.

I came back from the pisser to witness
the girls gulping their glasses.
It looked like used cooking oil
being dumped down clean kitchen sinks
by novice fry cooks who did not know
it was supposed to go elsewhere.

They flung their coats around their shoulders.
They said other Christian college students
were spotted and pure reputations were
at stake.  Rosie left her liquid smoke beer for me
and the girls dashed away as if to avoid stoning.

Adam and I glanced around at the dark statues
the carved thick wood wall signs, and other
lightless objects of worship populating the room
and he said the place was like a church.
Many concurred, but
all I could think was:

nothing really matters
anyone can see
nothing really matters
nothing really matters to me.

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~ by josephmchugh on January 13, 2009.

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