at the drive through cathedral 

everything is 1$ for the rest of the hour. 
it's a special. i feel in my pocket 
for quarters. thumb 
to metal. the ridge of that change. yes i do 
have a dollar i think & i roll down the windows
to steer down the central aisle. the people
in the car in front of me look like they 
want a marriage. the priests are putting it
in a little card board box with a toy. 
they're adding bottles of holy water
with new recyclable caps. i try to look up
at the ceiling because everyone's told me
there's a beautiful mural. it's all a blur.
i probably need glasses but honestly i can't
afford them so for now i'll make up what 
the painting is: people eating maybe or
maybe an orgy of seraphs or maybe just a mixing 
of clouds at the close of a day. 
the stained glass windows are digital now
so they shift every now & again. i play 
a game with myself to guess what biblical scene
a screen might show next. i hope it will be 
the miracle of the wedding at cana but instead
there is moses brandishing his tablets
as if they're a menu. i want to buy
a nice blessing. something thick. 
something to hold me over. i don't usually come
to mass at all but if i was going to i figured
something quick to get it over with.
dad & i used to time mass down to the minute.
getting back in the car, checking the clock.
one hour. fifty-nine minutes. forty-five minutes--
that's a record we'd say. get in & out of god
as quickly as possible. if you stay too long
he'll ask you to do something & i already have
way too many things to do. i drive up
to the altar where the priest is with his notepad 
& i forget what i wanted to pray for.
he says i look like a need a confession
& i don't-- i don't want that not right now.
it takes too long to confess. i say i just need
one small prayer. something warm & golden 
like french fries. something crisp 
in my mouth. i tell him i'm hungry &
don't know where to eat & i tell him 
i have a knot of dead stories in my throat 
the bible has planted in me. i want to grow
into something orange maybe or at least 
glowing. the priest tells me to open my mouth
& close my eyes. i listen. i obey him.
after all, there's a line of cars behind me
& i'm holding everything up with my 
indecision. he puts something warm in
& i chew. maybe it was bread. maybe this is
how they're making prayers there days.
he puts a toy in my hand (a little plastic 
st. mary. i put her on my dashboard & 
don't look back as i leave. i hear 
the next car ordering an anointing 
of the sick. i could have ask 
for that too. i'll come back 
i tell myself & grip the steering wheel
& drive.