ON MONDAY NIGHTS IN MILLTOWN

ladies start the week leafing through

King James Bibles, talking about Jesus

at the dirty tables of a Dunkin’ Donuts.

With an arsenal of scriptures and pink

highlighters, they’ll study the sermon.

Down the street, the Reformed Church’s

5 story spire glows in the floodlights and

flags whip in the cool winds of early spring,

Worries are a terrible substitute for prayer

and A Call to Worship fill up the sign board.

But I don’t go to church, I just sit here on

Monday nights with a butternut doughnut

and a coffee, absorbing the enthusiasm for

John 3:16, their newly found insights into

the apostle Paul and the Book of Revelations.

SOMEBODY'S DAD

Surprised at what you say lately, what we now do.

I find myself asking, how did it come to this?

and so this is what it’s like to be somebody’s Dad.

Worrying about our son, hope he follows through.

That sweet little loving boy is what we both miss.

Surprised at what you say lately, what we now do.

Do as you’re told, don’t like it, then too bad.

It’s different now; he thinks we know nothing.

I find myself asking, how did it come to this?

His mind is somewhere else, not worried about us.

Be patient, love him a lot, they say- it’s just a stage,

and so this is what it’s like to be somebody’s Dad.