Until somebody hauls me away.

I was dosing. Falling asleep. In a church pew. In the heart of busy Rome. Seeking solitude. Peace and quiet. The church wasn't quite empty. Three people seated up front. A man. Two women. Suddenly, I heard a guitar. Being played softly. Then a voice. Singing. Maybe I was dreaming. In heaven. Guess the threesome came to worship. Or entertain. Wasn't sure. One of the women. Got up. Faced the back of the church. Started reading. In Italian. 'She's reading from the gospel,' my true love said. I don't know if they were Catholics, or what. But it was a Catholic church. Nice and gaudy. Grandiose. With Baroque bric-a-brac. And I thought, maybe I should get up and speak. Deliver a sermon. And maybe be labeled a heretic. I began to wonder how many people wander in. Off the street. Just to rest. While others consider conducting an impromptu worship service. I wouldn't need a soap box. I could get up on an actual pulpit. Until somebody hauls me away. --Jim Broede