Mountain Preacher
In eight quick strides he left his nook.
In three he ascended the steps.
Surveying the room he eyed the lineup
And massaged his leather book.
Reverently turning its golden pages
He began his usual windup.
His pitch sounding low like a far-off train
Whose Conductor has eyed the gauges.
‘Till words. Words from the page slow and steady.
Words from the heart hot and heavy.
Then words pouring forth like staccato banjo.
Words knocking on my heart but I gotta go.
‘Till words. Words punctuated by shrill breath.
Words lost in the wonder of red-faced death.
Then words painting pictures of heaven’s delight.
Words loud enough to wake the dead just in sight.
‘Till words stopped and the righteous waited.
The man heard an “Amen;” the fish had been baited.
He drew us in with punctuated pauses
And called the song leader to save us for glorious causes.
Then it was finished; we could sing along.
Just as I am without one plea.
At verses seven, eight, and nine you can’t go wrong
If you run out as a kid, who needs to pee.
