Sonnet Five Twelfth Night
I suppose church became a game,
and my history teacher
wasn’t winning. It wasn’t a game
for me, because I got to see
my mother one day a week,
and sometimes my father came,
based on whether I could handle
it or not. I’d never met them before,
and the city knew it. So the city,
and I played the game, and I’d show up
at the church, and throw water
on the pastor’s plate,
to see if he were still around,
and he could help.
And the church secretary and I
would nod at each other or Monday,
and Thursday, when I was allowed
to check my choir folder.
The church was on recess,
because of golf this year,
and my father was a great golfer.
The church and the golf course
became a kind of crazy afternoon,
when I was counting Ins.
marchsparrows 