Of an early altar boy with Bella Lanzaserra in a supporting roll 

When the craft's pious modus operandi begins to fade, but the tabernacle holds

its internal interests and the Mezzo of the church choir is in radiant bloom

with a nice rendition of the Agnus Die, the grill-man at "Tiny Jim's" 

is scraping last night’s remnants of meat and potatoes to an oily sheen.

–– Priest nods at the chalice drunk first of wine then chased with water

and you’ve nabbed a girlfriend from the corner for the day's enlightenments

where each of you serves at the pleasure of the other, but you’re not quite sure

what to do with her and there she is kneeling in the front pew with her father,

a red-knuckled boiler-tender at the Sagamore Textile Mill who knows precisely

what you shouldn’t do with her, –– but

there’s always a chance given Bella's sleight-of-hand performances.

So you ring the harking bells of the Liturgy while Priest nods-off at the tabernacle

with God's own Holy of Holies locked-up behind its door, and I'm telling you,––

if it was me on the inside I'd be screaming!–– But all-and-all I'd say that this is a fine beginning to a very pleasant Sunday.