Two Poems

Happy 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
...