We’ve had an uptick in religious pamphlets:

You CAN know for sure that you are going to

HEAVEN says one from Westside Baptist Church
while the Scientologists provide a QR code

beneath the words Curious? Come in and decide

for yourself. Two whole copies of a small red book 
Truth as told by Luke from gospel.org.au.

I wonder if it’s because our paint is peeling

and the outdoor blinds are tattered on their
rusting metal frames. It’s true we are a godless

household. I was Lutheran but my boyfriend

was nothing. Liturgy chanted my childhood. 
Polished wooden pews, smell of candle wax.

The drama of it all. One hour per week eyeballing

a crucified Jesus who looked to be in serious pain.
I’ve been known to wave a sage stick around,

obsessive horoscope phases: how does being

a Gemini | Ox make me so capriciously flippant |
reliable and will I be HAPPY? How can I be HAPPY?

I never make a business deal while Mercury is

retrograde. Enthusing to a Lutheran about
her new baby’s star sign her face went dark:

We don’t believe in that it’s blasphemous. I lit

a candle for my dead Dad at family gatherings for 
a few years but nobody else got into it so I

stopped. I despair most days, about the world,

my inability to find pleasure in gardening or fix 
a rotting weatherboard. All of us smartarses

without faith desperately pinning our need

for reassurance on how often we can start a 
social media post with the words thrilled to

announce! Why wouldn’t I want to be saved

RIGHT NOW ? I don’t throw those pamphlets 
away. They’re right here next to me as I

scrape them for content. I turn my teapot

three times before pouring. I do daily push 
ups. I surprise a tradie who comes to stick

a camera down our blocked gutter. Sorry!

he says, I thought the place was unoccupied.