by Kyle Hemmings
In the underground
of a mission-style house of worship,
you were a priestess
of church bingo
fixing all the numbers,
I couldn’t even win
a free space
with a city woman
who climaxed like a hyena.
When the atheists
burned down the walls
and hung all the brown-eyed priests,
you gave them false names
ran barefooted towards an oasis
of smiling wet lips.
You couldn’t take the heat
when I yelled Bingo.
*Kyle Hemmings is the author of three chapbooks of poems: Avenue C (Scars Publications), Fuzzy Logic (Punkin Press), and Amsterdam & Other Broken Love Songs (Flutter Press). He lives and writes in New Jersey.