It’s been a while since I sat in a church
without a dead person lying near me.
I sometimes wonder if, from that low perch,
perhaps the guest of honor can hear me.
I’d like to think I’d get to hear you say
some things like “He was a wonderful guy.”
But I also then run the risk that day
hearing, “I couldn’t wait for him to die.”
I know, such thoughts in church are pretty crass,
and I should just pray for the poor deceased.
Someday I could be the one under grass,
and need my holy reward odds increased.
If more church is my heaven test, litmus,
pass the hymnal, pal. My God, it’s Christmas.