Pastor (Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

You that have got to be the voice of the Lord God
stop with your huge car of which the boot bounces open
and a whole sheep, vegetables and fruit for a month is loaded in
while you try to teach the members of your congregation to fear Him,
to stay far away from the things of the flesh,
with a deep kind of sadness your eyes look fixedly
and you do (not) see how a forty year old woman swing her buttocks for you,
do believe firmly in God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Ghost.
From the pulpit you seem timid in your black cloak
and nobody does notice when at midnight you sneak into your daughter's room,
how with pastoral visiting you turn into each widow's yard
while your congregation does sell pancakes and spit-roast
and right in front of the pulpit in your church an auction is held
and you do sell homemade-brandy and communion wine in the church building.