When I was about ten
And our church had the Lord’s Supper,
I couldn’t wait for it to be over
So I could go home and get out of my
Scratchy suit and constricting tie.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t take
I was bored, and looked around,
Fascinated by the fox stole
Draped around the neck of
The woman in front of me.
The fox had been arranged
So that it bit its own tale,
And the beady eyes looked at me.
I thought it was bored, too,
But hope came
When I heard
The heavy tread of deacons
Walking past me
Bearing trays with what remained of
Small glass cups of grape juice
(Baptists didn’t drink wine, even for a
Church service, and we used cubes of
Wonder Bread instead of matzoh),
They lined up in front of our pastor
Who took the trays and
Put them on the communion table.
One short prayer and
A hymn (with no benediction)
And that was it.
I was released
Until the next month.
One response to “The Heavy Tread of Deacons”
Dan, this poem is great. I could see this as I read it. Thanks for sharing.