Tip-toeing round the foreign church
I take a timid photograph
And wander up the aisles in search
Of interesting epitaphs.

I gaze about the gold and brass
Statues of angels, Christ and kings
And look around chromatic glass
To see what sentiments it brings.

At the side of the church, a board
Commemorates its martyred men,
With photographs and sacred swords.
I could almost insist “amen”

Before returning to the street
And the unwinding afternoon,
Where idle shoppers rest their feet
And above blue skies lurks the moon.


About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
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