Into my coffee cup, I stare deep.
In retrospective thoughts.
Seeking a sermon of belligerence, delivered by a pauper from a pulpit.
I leaned over the font in the the fair weather church.
Splashed my face with water most holy.
I hope nobody saw me.

I read from the the white board the words of the hymns.
All I could see was poetry.
In deep contemplation,
Sat in a world of coffee cups and societal dregs.
Listened to the vocalists, as they sang out of tune.
The old ladies in Sunday best frocks and curt Sunday hats.
Fellas in crispy white suits with jackets and ties on.
There's a man my age maybe.
Each week drags his lads in reluctantly.
The vicar stands at the front.
His dog collar's too tight.
His voice is so hoarse someone get him a drink.

He's reeling the same spiel each week.
Week in, week out.
Preaches of parables and gospels entirely.
I think I'm falling asleep.
God help me...I need to stay awake.
Pass me another coffee please.