The new church ladies, much the same
As those well known to Barbara Pym,
They know the words of each naff hymn,
In praise of what is trans or BAME.
Their hair is straight, not permed or rinsed,
Although it’s still a shade of blue,
It’s of a deeper, harsher hue,
To match their latest large tattoo.
Their faith is strong, they are convinced,
They’re never wrong nor yet mistaken.
They genuflect and take the knee,
Debate the new theology,
Know when to sneer and victim blame,
And when to praise and feel no shame.
And ‘some form of umbrage can always be taken’.
If others suffer, they are wrong,
Nothing to see now, move along,
These are rules, no exemption,
They do not care what cares you face,
Those not with them do not belong.
It must be so, they have a song,
That tells of what a lovely place
The world will be,
When there’s no trace
Of Western culture, swept aside,
In one last act of suicide,
Which yet will not be thought redemption,
New Church Ladies don’t do Grace.
