Woods Gets Religion
(for Paul Zimmer)
Our church had no theology,
no saints but plenty of sinners,
no confessional but a cold baptistery.
Communion once a year, but cold
chicken and potato salad every
Bible meeting. The Book was ironbound
to be struck on, and sparks flew
from Hell revealed. Some wag
put a chicken leg in the offering,
the plate was passed so many times.
O Helen of the Organ, I chose
the Baptist Church for your
deep eyes, and your sweet tongue
was the only wafer I could not wash down.