Charity chewed bazooka bubblegum beneath the awning of
a decrepit church tucked discreetly into a city block. We never went in, only sat to escape
   catcalls or car exhaust or a crack of lightning once or so a week. 
   I listened for the rhythmic smack, smack, smack of her lips & the echo
of the preacher talking. Days ago we’d sat & laughed as the children’s choir butchered a hymn.
   Now it was quiet, only one clear voice coming through the stacked chimney.
                              Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven… 
                           I cocked my head to listen. The words left chapped lips gently. 
                 Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
                  Charity swallowed her chewing gum & took out a cigarette. 
              And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil …
          Her fingers flicked at her lighter in a practiced motion.   
    For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.
My hands reached to knock it away, to hold her gaze firmly. 
     You can’t smoke at church, I snapped, A funeral. Have some respect for the dead.
She pocketed it quickly, brushed her hair aside for something to do. A vein jumped at her temple.
    
The procession filed out across the parking lot, casket resting on trembling shoulders.
The mourners clicked their lights on & drove away slowly. In a trance, I watched. 
From the porch my eye caught the silhouette of a bluebird.
It perched on the rear-view mirror of a parked car, pecking its own reflection away.