Rehearsing the Chester
We are angels waiting in position,
rather wooden on our imagined stage,
while God and Lucifer are arguing.
Lucifer thinks he knows it all, of course,
but he is merely heading for his Fall;
in a minute we must open the mouth of Hell,
shut Lucifer and the rebel angels in.
But the producer wants to start again:
God and Lucifer didnt get it right.
Outside a band of long-tailed tits flits into
the branches of a tree and out again,
small angels of the air. Sun slides down
the stone church wall, comforts its bones,
while God and Lucifer warm the air in here
with Mediaeval argument.
My back hurts and my feet are aching.
We are angels waiting, waiting
in position Id like to ask
if angels are entitled to complain?
If you've any comments about this poem, Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear from you.