Poetry of Issue #7        Page 4

THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY

Getting me to go to a church service is as difficult
as trying to get a barfly to try a glass of milk.
But my wife’s sincere broaching of the subject and her
desire to have us attend breaks me down and I should
be able to give belief a nod over my nonbelief for an hour.
I find myself liking the pomp and a few of the hymns,
napping a bit only when the minister in her sermon
drones on a bit too long about the perils of exceptionalism.
At the end, serenaded by the playing of bells, my wife and I
exit to the crisp air and a sharp pang of sunlight, city traffic
light but steady as we turn south, walking past the shuttered
meat house and the porn shop closed down only last week.
In a fine mood I tell my wife it might be possible angels
are congregating on the next block to greet us with a strong
hosannah or two, the holy ghost stopping briefly as well.
“There seems to be some commotion up ahead.” Could it be…