Secondhand Hallelujah

Sunday sun on my windshield. Breath fogs the glass. Coffee steam curls

as the choir leaks through. Still wearing last night's smoke and cheap cologne.

Gas station coffee shaking in my tired hands. Cracked dashboard, faint hymn leaking

through these walls. Gravel crunches under minivans and Sunday plans. I duck in

the seat so she won't see. With some new guy Bible held his arm around.

My hand finds the door handle and lets go. Heart pounding like the bass from

last night's band. You know I only call your name in trouble. Now I'm neck-deep,

parked on your land. I am catching secondhand hallelujah through this glass.