on the avenue of lost angels,
john the baptist's ghost wanders,
still preaching, head tucked
into a plaid suitcase,
silver platter under one arm.
shivering under the crumbling statue
of their uncommon savior,
the bag lady dreams john's words
of holy communion, ignored
by the other day end loiterers.
night sucks up dusk,
and the drug dealers creep,
bearing their own streetside offerings;
they laugh when she gropes the air,
john, are you still there.
by Ella Ferris Pell
Salome reincarnated suffers for
her dreadful sin of long ago
when as highly painted whore
she caused the death of Baptist John.
For as you sow, so shall you reap
a beggar now among the poor
upon a grating she must sleep
forever closed is heaven's door.
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