Christening At St. Mary Magdalene's Poem by Miki Byrne

In the church, sunlight slants through coloured saints.
Paints the floor in rainbows. A flower sentry
made by earnest ladies, stands tall by the door, Scents the air
with its blooms. The child, offered to Christ, waves a pudgy hand.
Starfish fingers flex. Waved artfully in a burgeoning spirit
of performance. She grins a tiny-toothed mouth, oblivious to all
but the adoration. While a bored boy chews gum and an Aunt
remarks sotto-voce about lack of respect.
Men in funeral suits sit in unaccustomed smartness,
with dandruff speckled shoulders and a finger pulling at a collar.
Their wives appreciate the opportunity to wear something new,
Yet fear to see their own outfit approaching, worn by someone
younger, prettier. One elderly couple are keen on architecture,
gaze with stretched necks at ugly-face bosses, the brave arches
of the ceiling.
The child's Grandmother talks through half of the ceremony.
Her pride armours against the shushing stares, the fidgets
of affronted congregants. Soon, it is done. The name sealed
in Christian words. The photos taken. The Grandmother bustles,
herding folk towards a buffet, a gin and tonic
and a chance to remove her shoes.
The child plucks at her white dress and laughs.