We Pray

Sunday is a day I should dress formally. 

The rest of the week is casual. 

This white collar round my neck,

With the book of forgiveness. 

Confused farmers work on allotments.

The caravan of the middle-class  are shopping. 

With the cut of a razor,

The forgotten dead flowers on a gravestone.

We all eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.

The sound of gunfire in Downtown New York;

The clubs are buzzing - 

The disco floor of sexy feet and knickers. 

The broken glass, chips and kebabs

At the taxi rank. 

All is forgotten as we sit at the cocktail bar

At the swimming pool. 

Sweet lovers in a park on a Sunday afternoon. 

The bell rings for Mass. 

Where will you be when the Vicar says his sermon?

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