A billboard outside Dallas proclaims:
Stop the porn! Be reborn!
Across the highway,
Wispers Cabaret isn’t quite
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas,
the strippers aren’t quite
Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls,”
DW’s adult store welcomes
all women and couples because
God only knows where the cowboys went,
God only knows who’s too high to die,
God only knows about the nuns
dancing in the wilderness moonlight,
rosaries bouncing against their hips
like spiritual pearls, like ripe jujubes,
and how sister Barbara Ann kissed
the other sister Barbara Ann
and how hell didn’t quite swallow them up
just like it didn’t when the Spanish
left the natives to run the missions—
when the coast was clear,
they shut the Bible
and let the altars crumble.

Originally published in descant, 2016