White Bread
A poem about how I feel attending church on sundays
oh my western church
rectangle of white
bare walls unadorned
welcomes at the door
with smiling white teeth
and a loose handshake
rows of coloured chairs
soft cheap comfortable
filled sundays only
the worship begins
guitar piano
mumbling empty words
prayer points announcements
expensive church camp
todays fundraiser
little girl on screen
black skin black bible
gaunt arms dirty clothes
the praise points up next
clean white kids smiling
holding crafts they made
then communion
square piece of white bread
sour scarlet grape juice
bought from corner store
easy to swallow
the same every week
preacher up on stage
the same old stories
glib and comforting
a tame white washed God
who asks for tokens
blessing easy lives
closing prayer relief
stretch yawn smile and rise
outside the sun shines
morning tea small talk
huddled smiling cliques
who wave politely
to the strangers there
who have come for a
true community
but finding none for
this fat body of
christ is not hungry
its time to go now
beat the traffic
walk to car empty
oh my western church
are you serving God
or soothing privilege
About the Creator
I. D. Reeves
☼ ོ ᨒ Australian Gothic + Poetry ᨒ ོ ☼
Story rejection counter → 🔟
Read my work ↓
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.