Poetry Meeting Copyright © Rob Lock 2011

Colin, on the squeeze box, reels me back
to the days when I was a sunbeam for Jesus,
collecting ship ha’pennies, and a magic lantern
brought the good fight all the way from the South Seas
to Victoria Street’s shadowy Sunday School room
where we coloured in pictures, meek and mild.

And he reels me to the chapel in the valley
where the Brethren met, and I would go
for the sake of the sisters, harmonium
leading our lusty singing to the old rugged cross,
where we forgiven sinners gathered, and I learnt
a little more about two kinds of love.

And now, the poetry and Colin’s singing over,
we say goodbye, murmurs of appreciation,
before we head back home - recalling what we can,
wondering if our words really spoke to anyone
about the things that matter. Or if what truly matters
is just this: the meeting and the greeting.