Someday it’ll be that Monday and we’ll all be set free,
back to the prisons of penury, the sanctimonious would use the word parsimonious because penury isn’t dainty,
let them paint me a cross upon the door where I live
God doesn’t give a toss
and I’m at a loss as to how to explain why that never ending love has gone awol, who can I blame? none but myself?, God’s book of poetry has gathered dust on the shelf for years.
Anyway when that Monday comes
I will celebrate reading tracts
Mathew and Mark,
John and Acts,
look, no Luke,.
but look harder and it is in the book,
is it time for bed now
half dead now
been fed now
is it time for bed?
© 2020, John Smallshaw.