Gin_and_Tonic

The Priest at Home in the Dark

In the darkness, the tears fall silent to the table,
keeping company the pool of melted ice and gin.
Today I lunched and laughed with tutors wanting money;
I had to tell them no, though I really want them to win.
They do good things with disadvantaged children,
an unfunded effort in the local middle school.
I listened to their story, their very praise-worthy story,
but had to tell them no. We parted; I felt like a fool.
And then the phone call from another parish, asking for advice.
“We have a small endowment. What should we do with it?”
Give it to the tutors, I wanted to say, give it to the tutors!
“How shall we invest it?” No! Give it to the tutors; they can use it!
I didn’t say what I wanted to say; I talked about the brokers,
the learned advisers who counsel sound and solid savings.
I should have told them to give it away; use it for the poor,
but if I had said that they’d have thought me mad and raving.
And then … home to news of an old friend’s death so far away
and another friend’s email about his new cancer diagnosis
and a call from an old friend whose job is a shambles, his life a mess.
I put down the phone … and picked it up,
but I had no one to call, no number to dial.
I remembered someone once asked
“Who cares for the caregivers?
Who ministers to the priests?”
and no one answered.
I had no one to call, no number to dial …
and if I had
no one would answer.
I filled a glass.
In the darkness, the tears fall silent to the table,
keeping company the pool of melted ice and gin.
– By C Eric Funston, 27 August 2015