Devil Sunday Poem by David Lewis Paget

It was Sunday morning, early,
I was going to go to church,
Re-establish with my Maker
Some connection, through a verse,
We would sing the same old Carols
It was Christmas, after all,
And the vicar in the pulpit
Would upbraid us, for our fall.

It was long since I'd attended,
It was years since I had thought
Of my Christian beginnings
In the Church they called St. Paul.
I had once sung as a choirboy
With a ruff about my face,
When I was a boy soprano
Singing loud, to lend him grace.

But I'd grown and looked around me
At the world and all its things,
And its science would astound me
As I learnt what money brings,
So I drifted slowly from the path
That led to Heaven's Gate,
Until time was all around me,
Had I left my bid too late?

I remembered that he'd said
He noted every sparrow's fall,
If his love was so encompassing
He surely loved us all.
All we needed was repentance
I repented now in spades,
For my part in an imperfect world
Whose glitter always fades.

I stepped outside to find that snow
Had fallen overnight,
Blanketing the coarser features
Of our world in white,
I stepped on out towards the Church
The snow crunched underfoot,
My burden was much lighter now
I'd thought, and understood.

A man in black approached me
And I recognised his gait,
He fell in step beside me
I supposed that it was fate,
‘I've been sent to collect you
From the offices downtown,
They said that you must come at once,
The estimates are down.'

‘Not possible, ' I answered,
‘I am on my way to Church,
You can tell them that I'm sorry
That I leave them in the lurch,
But I have a pre-appointment
With my Lord and Maker, God! '
He said, ‘Keep that one appointment,
You'll be looking for a job! '

I shrugged, and then he left me
Disappeared the way he came,
But my shoulders felt much lighter,
Though I thought: ‘Well that's a shame! '
But I pressed ahead, determined
That I wouldn't be gainsayed,
On this day, the Christ Child's birthday,
From the plan that I had laid.

But then an older woman called
For help, beside a gate,
She said, ‘Please sir, do help me
Or it may be far too late!
My husband's in the parlour
And he's had a sudden fit,
I need to call an ambulance,
Can you please see to it? '

I looked at her, remembered,
And I said, ‘You're rather late,
You haven't had a husband now
For seven years, or eight,
I really must be getting on
It's quite a way to Church.'
She muttered, and she scowled at me,
And then, I heard her curse.

A car came round the corner
And it tried to run me down,
It slid along the footpath
As I jumped, and turned around,
The man behind the wheel had glared
Then drove away again,
To keep that straight and narrow path
Was going to bring me pain.

A lad on a toboggan slid
And took my feet from me,
I landed in a heavy fall
Of snow, most thankfully,
By then the Church was well in sight
I hobbled on ahead,
‘Til I could hear the singing
Of the Psalms, clear in my head.

A beggar tried to rob me
And a group of people swore,
As I at last limped painfully
Towards that old Church door,
‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'
Began, and I turned round,
And with my hat saluted them,
The Devil's Underground!

6 January 2013