Streetcorner Church Poem by Sharan Strange

Is grace delivered
on twilight wings of air?
Don't ask this congregation.
They'd shout 'Yes!'
then breathe mightily
to draw you in.

A speaker strapped
to a car roof floats
gospel- a curbside choir-in-the-box.
Graffiti-scored stone for pews.
The ceiling dispatches prayer
straight upstairs.
Dubious oasis, Jesus might've shed
bitter tears here.

Three would-be saints
in red-stained garb stroll by,
mockingly sound the refrain:
'Sinner won't you come?'
The sun seeps burgundy,
gone-to-glory behind the altar.
The humming air of deliverance
lingers like a cloying perfume.