Sunday’s Best

By John Blase | September 14, 2014 |

I went to church this morning

in a corner of my mind

where the women all smelled Beautiful

and the men all sounded happy.

We knew it all a lie but what better place

for liars to congregate than a room

where our lisping stammering selves

could stand shoulder to shoulder

and sing nobler, sweeter songs?

Maybe Sunday’s best was

not so much something we put on

as it was a hope to dream of

for a couple of hours with friends.

I don’t know that this was true,

that we worshiped that keenly.

But like most things, it could have been.