As the Mennonites on the platform
Wait in the 19th century
For the train to Tijuana
And stem cell therapy
With dowagers who put their dogs in bags
And Fabion in his feathered ten-gallon hat
Shining his boots in the sun.
There are halos around them all
Who believe in alternate Gods,
A halo of straw for those so holy
They're shunned by the modern world,
An aura of cool for the couple from Seoul
Who melt into the depot,
And chakras for who wears their eccentricities
In the vividness of their sleeves.
I wonder how they look at each other,
The true faiths that barely
Conceive the world as it is
But how it might be,
When the impure are escorted away
And the golden light of who they already are
Is allowed to shine. Oh no, it's not by God
That this is done, but by them.
