'saw god on saturday'

A pilgrimage of followers, of teenage girl disciples

with dads trailing behind, trickling 

through ticket check barriers, borrowing youth.

The buzz is near-holy, coursing aortas aligned, they climb

up the sacred way where to sing is to pray,

up there the band is a pantheon.

Shoulder to stranger, skull, feet, muscle thrumming in 

one human mass that looks up to a new satellite below the moon

who looks out to a sky of phone-torch stars.

They’re fanatics, lunatics who tussle as

guitar picks, drum sticks are fought over,

sought after, bought, and sold like attention 

from the front man, put upon a plinth,

carved from rock music and marble.