Simply Sundays
One of my ministers,
a spiritual guide,
read to the congregation the contents
of one of my pumped-up poems,
the one suited to Memorial Day,
without me at her side.
I send her many works,
but with the plague and all,
we don’t actually meet,
but I watch her Sunday messages online,
appreciate the content while
staring wistfully at my empty front row seat.
I like it that she likes
what spills from my pen,
laugh when she reminds
the congregants who I am,
the only one who sits in the front row,
the Marine, the elderly gentleman.
I miss being with those folks,
my comrades in Spirit,
as I watch the services,
double up with the recording,
grateful the download allows me to hear it.
No comments:
Post a Comment