Our Dirty Bread

A bunch of times, I joined a feast
That was popular among my fellow citizens.
It became something I didn’t want to miss
Because I hated having very few friends.
Their arms were on each other’s shoulders,
Behind their necks as they made a circle.
I joined in, thinking it was more productive
Than being on a pew and facing some pulpit.
The feast I was in was also like that
But it was more fun than those Masses…or so I thought then.
There were stories, and I could relate
For they were of youths who had been delayed.
There were songs, and I could sing
For we were fellows of the Bad Lock King.
There were dances too, and we were wild
For we thought being wilder meant being civilized.
And then there was the food, which was bread we seasoned
By throwing it at our enemies ’til they gained confusion.
When I ate them up, it was very sweet
Even though it was cold, grainy, and steeped.
All that had me coming back
And all that seemed like the best
But now, I feel like I want to vomit
As I try to leave this church of madness.

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