Sunday Morning Coming Down and Letting Go

After service this morning we lingered, we three:
The reverend Golightly, my dear wife and me.
The sun streamed in as we talked at the door;
The stained glass tinting the old wooden floor.
I relaxed for a moment, and then with a sigh
My breakfast beans blew quietly by.

I thought I’d escaped, and I would have if
It hadn’t been quite so much of a whiff.
My wife ceased her chatter, sniffed and said “Pooh!”
Then gazed at me sternly. “Was that awful smell you?”
She gave me a Look and my heart gave a lurch,
What, admit before God that I’d farted in church?

“Me, dear? Of course not!” I said without thinking,
Holding my ground as they both stood there blinking.
A moment of hush and the reverend mused,
“Oh it must have been me, then. Please do excuse!”