Quoniam Infirmus Sum

Jesus we adore thee;
Jesus wept at the sight of a daily sufference
but the choir barely missed a beat
as the old man in a sweater curled up
by the cold radiator on that
finally-summer day

as if he'd forgotten warmth.

Lord heal us -
Grog-Blossom sits on a chair in a corner
and smiles
'Nice singing'
he says at tea break.

Lord protect us
from awkward moments
and subtly shuffling handbags
towards our feet.

Blessed is the man
who smiles serenely at the music
and draws the face of a girl as if
he were obliterating the paper;
a scummy city Michelangelo

whilst we scribble 'Expression!' on our scores.