We filed past each other on Sundays.
Took turns in the same facilities.
Shared a single altar, draped according to
each denomination's particular customs
Mama explained each religion.
The Baptists believed we were going to hell.
Episcopalians, were merely Catholic wannabes.
Lutherans, were our black sheep relatives.
And then there was us,
our church,
built on the rock of Peter.
Occasionally, we came together,
one mad packed assemblage of faiths,
sang the Lord's praises, while showing off our voices.
I don't care what Mama said,
on those particular days,
it was the soulful sway of the Gospel choir,
which rocked the rafters,
and shook open Peter's gate.
I was quite sure, God enjoyed their homage,
just a little more than ours.
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