NaPoWriMo Day Six

(With apologies to Bob Dylan's Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues)

When you're tossed in the midst of Custom Pub and its file release day,
And the editor leaves and creativity hits a contrarian brick wall.
Don't try to game the system when the buyer's in a spat with Design,
Just get the files to the printer and go out to lunch with your team.

Half the players have already checked out of this holiday hotel,
They're making other plans and strategizing their next big deal.
It's on to greener pastures, look at us now beating all our dates,
And unless it's an emergency, don't copy me on any more emails.

What are my plans? Well, I won't be going south as I thought,
Maybe color some eggs, plant some flowers, or go out to eat.
Mom ask if I was going to church, and I said probably not,
But I'm looking at a couple of candidates to see if they fit.

It's a pantheist season of renewal and it's been a few years
Since I've been to meditation at the Buddhist temple downtown,
And the years before that at the universalist country church,
So maybe a congregation or a sangha would do me some good.

My wife and I were riding our bikes by the river and I asked her if
She would join me in some cultural research among the Presbyterians.
We'd visit and observe, go out to brunch, and study the data,
No eggs, no bunnies, and only two wheels on this cycling dharma.

The small-town congregation gave us an education in their ways,
They couldn't have been more friendly in their pastel sanctuary,
With lilies in the windows, brass sextet, angelic harpists, organ, choir,
Although the sermon was heavy handed and inordinately long.

With a table by the water, brunch was a complete success:
The buffet had lox and bagels, fresh melons, lobster mac and cheese,
My date looked great across the table in the gold and silver light,
Our waiter kept refilling our cups, and I wrote this with his pen.