twenty rupees for the marigold twine,
ten for the coconut shell.
i stood in the thirty-foot queue in a line
under a brass temple bell.
the priest had a watch with a golden dial
and a phone that kept buzzing in silk,
he gave me a curt, commercial smile
and poured out the offering milk.
outside on the stone where the beggars sit
in the dust of the pilgrims' feet,
a stray dog chewed on a plastic bit
and a child asked for something to eat.
god was inside in the incense smoke,
shut behind doors of teak,
too busy counting the prayers they spoke
to hear the hungry speak.
i took the prasad wrapped in paper tight
and walked through the crowded lane,
wondering who was saved tonight,
and who paid for god in vain.