There are none, but then,
I have little in the way of
need for clothes hangers.

Knee and boot caps, have
kneel wear moon marks,
churches are Winter warmed.

One could be lucky, fortune
provides the occasional scarf,
but women's gloves never fit.

50 centimes for a candle, washers
won't work, so some poor souls get
they're half wicked wishes, quenched.

Bless me father for I have sinned, it's
been 40 years since my last confession,
(to no one behind the spaghetti strainer)

Back then we always got a full eucharist
when we didn't need it, now its a half,
even less calories for the (gluten intolerant).

There are no black baby boxes either,
t'was easy to get a few bob out of them,
anyway, they have all grown up by now.

Organised is the saying for sleeping in
the choir loft, lockdown, until first mass,
that ****** angelus would wake the dead.

No ice in baptismal font, first snows have
fallen (footprints go the wrong direction)
God walks in mysterious ways, to the street.