16. A Short Con
the empty lot
where they held camp meetings
now a highrise
faint strains of songs
float in the rain
My grandfather was a Southern Baptist minister, my grandmother his choir director and pianist. When I was a child they took me with them to old fashioned tent revivals.
I had a job to do. Before the congregation was exhorted to be saved, I was asked to sing a hymn. As I sang “I Come to the Garden Alone”, I stepped from the altar and walked down the center aisle, pausing halfway to turn and face my grandfather, and while still singing, gesture for the crowd to step up and accept salvation. At the hymn’s conclusion I would fall to my knees and bow my head.
While the sinners and faithful surged forward, other children were dispatched from the back of the tent to escort me outside to play, providing a swift and efficient exit.
Soon I grew older and was no longer asked to accompany my grandparents.
They preferred singers under eight years of age.
sunbathing
in green celluloid visor
au naturel
my nudist grandfather
a doubly defrocked preacher
~Southern Illinois, 1949
Atlas Poetica Special - 25 Taanka Prose
