Two or three angels
Came near to the earth.
They saw a fat church.
Little black streams of people
Came and went in continually.
And the angels were puzzled
To know why the people went thus,
And why they stayed so long within.
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.