True tales of an early altar boy with Bella Lanzaserra in a supporting roll 

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

its internal interests like a secret word and the Mezzo of the church choir

is in radiant bloom with a nice rendition of the Agnus Dei, the grill-man

at "Tiny Jim's" is scraping the late night remnants of meat and potatoes to an oily sheen.

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

and you’ve nabbed the best girl from the corner for the coming day's enlightenment

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 past performances.

So you ring the harking bells to draw attention to the goings on while Priest

nods-off at the tabernacle with God's own rendition of the Lamb locked-up

behind its door, and I'm telling you,––if it was me on the inside I'd be screaming!–– 

But all-in-all I'd say that this is a fine beginning to a very pleasant Sunday.