I Remember Church
Early Sunday morning,
I walk in and grab a mint.
I say “Good morning!” to the band
and we start practicing.
We forgot to pray, so
45 minutes and two songs in,
we pray.
The tired congregation trudges in
while we practice the fast song
quickly, to hide
the thrill we planned.
Then we huddle onstage
(so that they can see)
and we pray.
The countdown starts
and I scan the crowd for whoever;
I run for coffee with my in-ears
on display;
I jump back onstage
while the misleading clock
idles at zero;
I stuff my ears with
corrective clicking, then
Drums count to four,
kicks four on the floor;
excited chords blare,
and the witnesses
clap and stare.
Sing His Glory!
See our faces unveiled!
See my beautiful emotion
on display;
hear my sailing, bold voice!
Just follow my tack;
I think up a verse to say.
I throw my hair,
I stomp the beat,
I shout! —
I sweat for the people;
they shuffle their feet.
I repeat a line
two times, then three —
are they feeling it,
or is it just me?
And did I ever touch reality?
A huge, crashing ending;
I lift up a shout! Then,
“Welcome to church!
Watch us and get out.”
