Her Children sleep, Guarded by
a fourteen year old disciple
whilst she works the dead hours
dispensing, pale smiles, pepsi and
tobacco, to the weak beards and
young breasts of a student population
Saving lives and slaking thirsts
Blessed virgin of the late night store
There in her neon glass grotto
the conduit between the last joint
and something sticky, sweet, quick.
Worshipped, protected, 'til semi dawn
dreaming of her lost childhood
and picking away childhood's shells
from those who worship at
the blessed vigin's late night store
Until at last their drunken youth
becomes an empty echo in the aisles
her dreams grow cold within the dawn
her limbs grow numb from worship
and the call of her children's love
drive the blessed virgin home to
her earthly life, and a few hours fitful sleep
Bill Mitton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blessed-virgin-of-the-late-night-store/
