The Innisfree Poetry Journal
www.innisfreepoetry.org
by C.B. Anderson
AFTER CHURCH
Along the river, random shadows dapple
the narrow, willow-bowered beaten path
which leads directly from the white-washed chapel
to gravel banks where shriven couples go
in summer to redeem the aftermath
of doing time in church. A few canoes
invade the lazy ripples—somewhat slow
against the gentle current, faster when
their prows are aimed downstream—and viewers lose
themselves in elemental tug-of-wars
between their habits and their dreams. Amen
once stood for closure; now it only breeds
dissent among the galley slaves whose oars
are locked in mud.
The sandwiches are dry;
the bread's been spread with less than what it needs;
it's much too warm to slather mayonnaise
without the fear of taint; and though they try,
the waders near the landing cannot quite
evade the tide of imminent malaise
arising from the waters.
It's only Sunday,
with hours of light and all the coming night
for wondering how the day will break on Monday.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication
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