St Martin in the Field

It was a world of

brown holland

of Miss Havishams and Estellas

until poverty was diverted

from the reading rooms of libraries –

an unofficial congregation sleeps out

full forty winks of prayer

touching reassurance in the oaken pews

remembering when life was new and Sunday-smelling –

secular sermons to ‘Mind your wallet.

Do not leave unattended valuables…’

the Church’s treasure is a dish of sunlight

that streams in through the unstained glass –

there is that rustling noise of silence

shuffling conversation and newspapers

taking little liberties with God –

this is the pit shift

St Martin in the Field

field grey down the tunnel of a gun.