Crisis Of Faith Poem by Martin Ward

Crisis of Faith

Intellectual.
A Man of Faith.
His dog collar
in a plastic bag beside his bed.

"God forgive me
when I pray that your father
will keep quite in the night."

Neighbours in cancer.

He could talk to me.
A visitor he sensed
could understand.

Here, the equals wait.
He only found out last week.

Shock.

Serving God,
but scared
to meet him early.

A good vicar's wife
(probably called Daphne or Camilla)
dutifully called
with worries of the parish
to hang like a millstone.

I can talk to you.
I have a crisis of faith.

The smell of shit and cabbage
is a great leveller.
Curls of once-blonde hair
held within clenched fists.

"I'll pray for him - your father.
He seems like good company
in better times."

My father thinks
a rat is eating his foot
and that lesbians make love
on his bed.

The next day he had gone.