Sunday morning, before the start of service
you were standing at the foyer,
(with your friend who talks too much)
as your lime-green skirt cuddled your hips.

I overheard you saying you know me
(the brother who worked the camera)
so I assumed your talkative friend
with the dodgy wig asked
but more than her scary eye-lashes
your answer amused me.

How could you say you know me
when you don’t even know it
how my camera unduly lingers
on you
each time I pan to the choir stand
and there you are smiling holy smiles,
so I smile
as there you are, raising holy hands
till in my headphones the unit leader
interrupts our date, goes frantic
screaming in my ears:
“Camera 2! Camera 2!
what are you doing?”
then I’m jolted back to earth
till five (or less) minutes later
when I do it again.

So how could you say you know me
when you don’t even know it
that I’ve been banned
and it’s all because of you
from the cameras, to the control room
Where I can sit and observe it
as I struggle to decipher it
how easily you do it
to walk into any service
and just like that, gracefully without trying
you make every woman in the room
look like Christmas trees without the lights; bland
You do it without even trying
you make them all look so bland.

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