Seminarian at the Preachers’ Convention
Will no one listen to my little song?
We chat, we nod—but nothing’s ever heard.
Perhaps I won’t be with you very long.
I know all Jesus preached on right and wrong—
I croon the Psalms and Proverbs like a bird,
though you’ve already heard this ancient song.
Through conference rooms, I pull myself along
and sip a lonely ginger ale—my third.
I may well not be with you very long.
My voice and solemn handshake: both are strong
from practice tending someone else’s herd,
but no one listens to my little song.
I’ve shown up late—I’ll have to fight a throng
to hear the keynote speaker teach the Word.
I don’t think I’ll be with you very long.
I want someone to tell me, you belong,
son—rave on like the Prophets, undeterred,
but no one seems to hear my desperate song.
I think that I’ll move on before too long.
"Seminarian at the Preachers' Convention" was originally published in Old Red Kimono, vol. 40.