No Sunday Sales

Dear Ohio
I’m confused by your Sunday restriction
to honor religious conviction
which I could almost abide 
squelching desire to imbibe 
whilst soaking in 
the emerald forest from my cabin 
were it evenly applied
Then I see the sign:
No Sunday sales of wine, spritzers or spirits
Winking, a 12-pack of Budweiser waltzes past
under a tattooed arm and a baseball cap,
rings up without decline 
I’m at a loss for the discrepancy you’ve defined
of whom drinks what on Sunday
An indiscriminate condition enforces a peculiar abolition
in Jesus’ name
You must admit: It’s a strange decree
In remembrance
we take wine with bread 
not beer instead
on Sunday 
It’s what Jesus himself exalted, favoring wine
over what’s malted, 
Yet, in Ohio’s rule supposedly 
alcohol content measures piety
Who drew this line?
If ever legislation looked like self-preservation
Ohio, tell me why you keep this charade
when a loophole exists to parade
wine and spirits by the case
where a liquor license is in place
A goose chase for Chardonnay
Tipped off by the checkout gal at IGA 
Try the Marathon Gas down the way
and sure enough
a few bottles send me a smooch
from the shelf between bourbon and hooch
The man behind plastic takes mine
One bottle is just fine, no binging
A glass or two for sipping all I desire
on this day of rest, I enjoy my leisure,
chatting with friends, now pondering
who deemed that sacrilege 
while 12-packs get carried away
unscrutinized, carefree, on any day
like wind

Photo by ilya gorborukov on Unsplash