The Prayer Brokers

Somehow the stairs
Were out of order today.
So I took the elevator
To a floor it couldn't reach before.
The doors opened like the metal robe
Of some Indian goddess, or another.
Outside was a strange place
Where the twelve dozen denizens
Of every heaven and half bit hell
Swarmed around the Prayer Brokers,
Casting bids for sins,
And working out the value of pain.
I only blinked twice
Before fixing the price I would pay
To bow down to these clutching divinities.
So I turned around,
Only glancing to note
That little white lies were up by an eighth.










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