(in which it is found rather regrettable that souls cannot be saved during normal business hours)

 

I will admit that “caterwauling” is an ugly word,

But, no matter how joyful the noise,

It’s the only word which fits any sound

That damned deafening come sunrise on a Sunday morning.

Once again, in song and speech, they were down there,

Loud enough to call all the souls of the just to Glory;

Indeed, the whooping and hollering was enough to lead one to suspect

That, just perhaps, they had followed the exhortations of the pastor

And thrown all the wild women, cards and drink into the river after all.

It’s not like they do this every damn weekend or anything,

I grumbled (loudly enough to ensure your transition

From the limbo of semi-awake to the real thing,

Part and parcel of ‘til death do we part, in my way of thinking)

But you simply wrapped an arm a little more tightly around my waist,

Sighing Each to his own, Baby—can’t you just celebrate the joys of sleeping in?

I smiled to myself (my back to you, after all)

Ruminating a bit upon the business of revelation being a funny thing,

Though I grumped and growled a bit as a matter of principle

How the good book made it a point to mention

That He was not adverse to an occasional day off.

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5 thoughts on “(in which it is found rather regrettable that souls cannot be saved during normal business hours)

  1. I like how this is tagged. It kind of answers the question or regret that the title asks or explains. What else can we do but shrug off what’s not always there, but when it is there, we feel it in our knees and then lose our breath? What the hell is that sound? All in partial all it makes me wonder who am I sitting beside on the bus. I think it’s that line, “all the wild women, cards and drink into the river after all” or maybe the entire wonderful doom this walk down by the river maybe. Work will set us free I hope; whatever work that is; the hours of day or night.

  2. I have a church down my way too, with a crazy drummer whose insistent beats reach my bedroom window (heathen that I am). I love the droll approach you take, and the sense of comfort in the known boundaries of relationships (both with wife and god).

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