Church Is for the Birds
Sunday morning cafecito on the deck A Pinion Jay in his blue feathered frock Preaches fire and brimstone from his pulpit high in a juniper tree. I am drawn into the sermon. His God is not one of forgiveness There is no warble from the cricket choir No “HALLELUJAH” from the insect congregation. They listen silently from the shadows Lest the preacher have them for breakfast.