It was three hours into his sermon
He knew he had at least two more
The congregation was getting fidgety
He caught them glancing at the door
All of his life he’d been long winded
It was no more apparent than now
Fire and brimstone came from his lips
He could have roasted a fatted cow
Sweat, it trickled down his nose
And dripped upon the Living Word
The church didn’t have air conditioning
Sounds of hand fans could be heard
The elders were giving him stink eyes
Aunt Bessie, she was sound asleep
Offering had been counted four times
As he continued preaching to his sheep
Little Jimmy went to the outhouse
He had gone at least five times
Anything to escape the August heat
Sun high overhead and in its prime
Lunch hour, it was just a memory
Suppertime was not too far off
His wife pointed to her wristwatch
Got his attention with a loud cough
An altar call he finally announced
The front of the church was packed
Anything to get off those wooden pews
To relieve rumps and sore backs
The elders met and called a short meeting
Decided they had better let him go
Now he has a job that fits him
A long-winded auctioneer, wouldn’t you know!
Tuesday, June 21, 2022