A HOLY VISION
Michael Arthur Finberg
Looking back in
silence
the polite
soul of
our age could see
the smoke stacks,
competing
with the
digital screens,
skittering
an engine
chuffing away
towards the Golden
Arches, a little
penal and
gaunt-like
not pure and
not true, the Coke
cans now pulled
out of the
refrigerator
their echo
a muffled ringing
from the sealed tomb.
