The removal

The removal

Six to a small pew, sat like sardines;

You have to call your shoulders in,

No room to rubberneck, no room;

In this remote country church,

With dampness, a pungent agitation-

Flaking walls through paltered paint,

Done on a dripping Monday morning;

Waking;

At the house in hindsight-

Was a better option for those who did?

Whiskey and old tales galore; and

Sandwiches to fortify against inebriation,

Candid view along the backs of those

That lined the seats, sardined towards

Altar;

Piety, statues of angst and angels-

Comb-overs, pan heads and pedigree grooms;

Smoke drenched cretins; and fish smell well-

From here;

I, a nasal cavity research technician-

Stone thrower, hypocrite and more besides,

Paying my respects like anyone else, removal

copyright MCB