The Offertory

She would go to church
Every Sunday,
Not to listen
To the bullshit
From the pulpit,
But to watch Ray
With the offertory tray
Advance in style,
Wishing it was her
He was taking
Up the aisle.

And at night,
The curate
Would contemplate
And take stock
Of the romance
Which blossomed
In his flock,
And live out
In his dreams,
Their courtship,

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