Angry

He stood in the door of the temple

And saw red

.

The beautiful ones

Stressed up like sharks

Creases sharp enough to cut

Hunkered down over their spreadsheet scriptures

Their holy bottom line

.

These beautiful creatures

Who can never have enough

Who are blind, but for the glint of golden things

Their altars slickened with the substitutionary sacrifice

Of the poor

.

Tear a rib from me Father

Make them anew

Turn over their chemical tables

Snap the twisted strings of their DNA

.

My blood boils

bright

red