Open Mic At The Colosseum Poem by Dean Meredith

It's Open Mic
All the egos congregate
In the small church
Café actually
Don't tell anyone

And they arrive
And slink down the isle
Of random chairs & souls
Get to the Minister/MC
Offer to share a song or psalm

There's a time limit
For the service
For the offerings
For the said chairs & souls
Some clapping is allowed

Some of the girls
Try to distract me
From the poems
But I'm made of iron!
And apparently slowly melting

There are pictures on the walls
Some of them could be God?
None of the parishioners acknowledge this
Once again I am alone on my pew
Waiting for my turn