For years I've felt put upon
By Christians
Who like to pray a lot
A tendency
To start off public meetings
By saying prayers
Which honestly is alien to me
I do not close my eyes
And neither do a lot of them
For I am on the look out
every time
For what we are about to receive
say it to yourselves
Don't draw me into your beliefs
My chyme
Is not made any less acidic
by your mumblings
and often I resent them
for I see
You tucking into
suckling pig
or a lamb plucked out of some
green field,
or a veal steak
Its mother pining
tragically

You never saw the
knife that cut short
a poor infants time on earth
a tiny baby, made by God alone
and you sit there
praying to him
thanking him
for what you've done
snubbed him and destroyed
the love he'd shown
and the prayers you blurt out
Won't absolve their agony
Your mantra might be
customary for you
But to me to have to sit
and watch you fill your
bodies noisily
With their blood and guts
Is to me pure heresy