...the smell of the crowd

THE

ROAR

OF THE

GREASEPAINT...

Always there lurks

In recessed choir corners --

Well paid hirelings

Like professional mourners

Talentless mistresses

Taking by storm --

Stage mothers pushing

On the Altar, perform

Theatrical wanna-bees

Grease-painted and curled --

One-upmanshipping the Eucharist

All staged, their world.