Stovepipe hats and whitened spats
suits as sharp as Mothers tongue
yes
it's Sunday at the homestead
no chance to stay or lay in bed
up at the crack where dawn peers back
with a quizzical look,

get the good book
read a verse
then the sermon
nothing worse
except now
we go to church.

school on Sunday?
tomorrow too
and all the week
until
it's through

I wish I was an atheist
and played guitar
drank tequila
sat at the bar

but there's a while to go
before I can grow
up.