In those last wild years when
This was my kingdom from
The afternoon rush to the evening meal,
I would search in the leaves
For a few perfect flowers
To rest in the little pink shot glass
Before the Virgin Mary.
Then I'd kneel and say a prayer,
Before I knew what liquor was,
Before I knew of other things,
And painted statues became but statues
And God ceased to grow in my backyard
With every magic spring.