The long green weeks stretch out, Pentecost now past,
And Trinity Sunday a preacher's fading nightmare.
Churches yawn and settle back. Ordinary Time.
We ditch the stringencies of Lent,
The chocolate fasts, the dogged home group chats,
And shelve Ascension's awkward exegesis,
Its visions of plaster feet beneath a cloud.
Trinity 3, Trinity 4 – a time to fill
With stopgap sermon schemes and stand-alones –
A fleeting time for picnics, feasts and clubs.
Trinity 7, Trinity 8 – time out of time;
An everwhen to dream of better ways,
To think in colour, glimpse a world less drab –
Until the Tower of Sundays grows too high.
Trinity 19, 20 – a toppling tower;
Lest we should reach to heaven, the countdown starts:
3 before Advent, 2, and churches wake,
And warm up for the routine annual battle
Of tinsel versus the infant icon of God,
Of Santa versus the word of Peace on Earth.
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