Fay Slimm.

SUNDAY DEMANDS.

 

 

Sunday Demands.

 

Rain wringing out cold drops on sodden yards,
wetting Sunday-faced parents 
plus ripples of special-dressed offspring shiver
while mincing upwards in
mud-spattered lines to their weekly salvation.


Built with stone-hard resign and parson ruled 
cliff-top portals proffer no finery.
Blackened by season\'s salined vageries walls
where maids and their matrons
enter and kneel for sermon\'s heard warnings
burgeon with sin\'s built-in aches.
Hatted heads bow as passing dark clouds fling
showered reminders to men,
bent on repair work, know gale-flattened grain
awaits redemption from
sudden winds, cattle-full shed needs spading
and as rickety gates reel
on torn hinges believe time wastes in Sunday
attire when dire demands
out-pitch the rattle of plated coins by brisker
attention paid to maintenance.


Farm-folking labour takes precedence, save
for one holy-day when,
appetite, chapel-quenched, Sunday skirts lift
as boots skid downwards again
to kitchen heaven of savoury smells, tables
stocked in warm welcome
of ready food as kin-folk fill before venturing,
sin-cleansed, preacher-forgiven and
replete with thanks for rude health let hands 
continue to weather habitual 
hymn-expectations by accepted dependence 
of Sunday-demands  in living off land.