The Saturday when I became a man
I had no sense of what I was about.
The language I was using had no meaning;
At least to me it made no sense.
The man beside me seemed to understand.
He held the magic finger, and he moved
It all along the magic scroll;
All while I mouthed these secret words,
These foreign symbols, into stranger sounds.
The finger skipped a line; what should I do?
I skipped it too;
And no one seemed to fall down dead,
Or waken from their sleep.
I had no inkling who it was
That I was blessing,
Or who I might be cursing with my voice.
Or who was simply being entertained.
But then it was high time for me to quit
My brief employment as a priest,
And let the man who stood beside me take
The mantle back upon his covered neck,
While I was relegated to the role
Of unaccustomed and unwilling acolyte.