This appeared in Ship of Fools. I think of it as my Huck and Tom's Funeral poem.
When I assume the godhead, and the Church
Of Me convenes in outlets nationwide,
I shall expect to find your name. One day,
When your town comes up Now Appearing Here!
On My itinerary, I shall look
Down from my My eyrie, noting if you wear
A deferential cloche or picturebook
Chapeau; I shall observe your hemline, check
Whether the exposed thighs suggest a feigned
Passion for kneeling and a lure to stop
Your neighbor's vagrant eye. You'll bob your head,
But will you praise Me? Even as I drive
To heartland towns and franchisees who camp
On plains the wind godfathered, as I drop in
On rustbelt exiles flattering the days
They ordered sausage in their native tongues,
I shall reflect. What shall I think of you,
Singing with lips you kept all to yourself,
Who came to worship what you cast away?