This poem is taken from PN Review 170, Volume 32 Number 6, July - August 2006.
Two PoemsHappy Sundays
When Harold and Evelyn
Came to tea and we ate
Tinned salmon and Libby's fruit cocktail
Followed by mother's seed cake,
Sundays were sacred to something
I never quite understood.
The main aim in life it seemed
Practising the art of being good,
And all else followed
According to father,
Money in the bank
And a happy marriage, neither
Conspicuous in our house.
Evening found us at chapel
Listening to the Christian doctorine
Of love and not understanding
...
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