Call me a church mouse
Yep, generations of ‘em
Here, under the oaken arches
And that golden and blue glass.
Long quiet pause
Day after day
We like that
Place all to ourselves
Except for one singing woman
With a mop
And a quiet man in black
Sits on a bench with open book
Drops to his knees often
Down where we are.
Couple a’ times he near
Squashed me
But he didn’t know.
Seems gentle and trustworthy
Others before him
Mostly the same, my folks tell me.
…No, I take that back!
Couple of them struck real fear
Into some of the women and kids.
Those few with the nasty smirk
Never looked at the picture windows
Never sat in the bench
To get real quiet.
Sometimes I climbed
All the way up to that
One picture with those fluffy critters
And the kindly man with the staff
(Bearing subscription Ezekiel 34) .
Did it twice when
The place was crowded.
Loud sounds, blended voices
Clapping hands, fun apparently.
Then all got real quiet
And the man with the black coat
Spoke, spoke long
And hard, and raised up that Book.
My siblings were busy out back
Sampling the cakes and fruit.
But I had the better portion
In this lovely quiet and focus
And that Book seemed to be
So very important.
He even pointed up
To the glass picture behind me
Thought I might get noticed.
Crouched down real low.
Nice people, mostly.
Somewhat confused.
They might come more often
If you ask me.
Doug Blair
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/church-mouse/
