Testing the Wi-Fi at the Westtown Pentecostal Church

‘Cause then there was this boy whose

parents made him come directly home

right after school. And when

they went to their church

they shook, and lurched all over

the church floor.

He couldn’t quite explain it,

they’d always just gone there.

—Crash Test Dummies

The internet was

down for half-a-minute

and you said it was just

a hiccup.

I guess glitch

is no longer en vogue,

and fucked

cannot be uttered

where we are,

in the parlour

beside the sunny

sanctuary, where we’ve

heard they talk in tongues,

tumble amid the pews.

We discuss the girl

who had the hiccups,

not for minutes

but for years—

28 of them in fact—

went from Brownie

to PhD, designing

satellites when they ceased,

Starlink’s rubbish-in-the-

sky. She had to learn

to converse

all over—without the

sudden spasm

which all were accustomed

to, a more “sophisticated”

cousin of the burp.

You look it up on

Mayo—say they’re caused

by too much soda,

a time of stress, duress;

and of course there is

the man, who, on his wedding

day, guzzled down a vat

of Dr. Pepper,

had them so bad

he rushed right through

his vows like an auctioneer,

ending on a hic,

both his Pastor

& his bride

astonished by his

dialect of love, this gift

of the Holy Spirit,

who whispers nothing

is so strange it can’t be

spoken, nothing so bizarre

we mustn’t hear.

Andreas Gripp

June 4, 2025

Damaso Reyes