"Take A Pew"

Doors are open
In I go.
Wandering around
To be nosy
And killing time.
Usually I look
For a guidebook
Never paying
The full price.
Two bob in the box
At most
Cos 'the church'
Whatever the brand
Can afford it. 
I pop back
Inbetween poets
More time to kill.
Echoey and empty.
Just as well-
As I let rip
A half-decent fart
As I sit down on
A rather uncomfortable
Old wooden chair
It's almost as if
They don't really want
My sort in here.
The chair acts as a pew
Rather than my fart
Acting as a poo.
Here I am
Wafting farty smell
Overpowered by
The stench of incense.
Tiles chipped
And missing
On the floor
Paint flaking
And plaster gaps caking
The dirty old wall.
It's almost as if
They left the door open
As an afterthought
And they've got
Nothing to sell.
Come on in
But got to hell.
So to speak.
The only reason 
I am here again
Is because
It's not quite a breezy
As the park
With the drunks
Round the back.
Clearly no spare
Communion wine here.
But I am still here.
Sat in a so-called
House of God.
I've yet to see the light
Or shout 'Hallelujah!'
And to be honest
I don't think I will
In the near future.
But who knows?
As they say...
The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Dulwich Poet 13th May 2017

(I was at a poetry magazine event, held in a church hall in Clerkenwell, Yesterday. I went to have a look in the church, the Holy Redeemer. It was quiet, with one or two people popping in. I sat down to rest, and this is what I randomly wrote...)