Public Piety
11/26/06
They pray in the side corridor of the library.
They pray in the side corridor of the hostel, a Turkish proletarian
carpet under their knees.
They pray in the streets on Friday, shoulder to
shoulder on a long green mat like cheap Astroturf.
They pray in the hallway of the movie theater
while Miami Vice plays.
They pray right next to their post,
their gun on their hips and their club next to their prayer mat.
They pray in their living rooms ba3di fitar,
the youngest boy's head resting on the heels of
his father in front of him.
They wash their arms, then feet, then face (twice over
their head, twice around their ears)
in public bathrooms and the sink next to my dorm room.
The muezzin's loudspeaker obscures the blare of
traffic five times daily.
They pray until the soot shows on their forehead,
a bindhi of ground skin.
Theirs is a public piety transcending ostentation.
