Prayer Time

Bleary eyed and half asleep on Saturday morning,

I dragged myself to synagogue upright and yawning,

But tradition is tradition and this is what I do,

Time for some prayer of observant flavoured brew,

I climbed the stairs until I was high,

In the women’s gallery near the sky,

And I hadn’t been there for more than a bit,

When the sermon began and it was time to sit,

And while I floated away I noticed the door,

The handle was swaying and then it moved some more,

Before little hands could get caught, I rose from my seat,

And I yanked at the door which proved no easy fete,

It would not open however hard I did yank and pull,

We ladies were locked in the female gallery of the shul,

And others tried, but it was to no avail,

As just like me they were doomed to fail,

And all this time the sermon carried on and on,

Downstairs men dozing, some even up and gone,

And I tried not to think about it, but the thought was there,

What if I needed the loo, I tried offering up a prayer,

And what about food and my water rations were low,

Important for a claustrophobic to assess and know,

The windows were barred and the door was locked,

Every escape path was nulled and blocked,

Was this religious coercion brought to a new level,

Or the work of a child, perhaps even the devil,

So I yellowed down below Help us we are in need,

And they sent up an octogenarian, to do the good deed,

By now things were moving a wee bit slow for me,

He fiddled about and I went for Plan B,

I would break the door down it was as simple as that,

I charged once, while the ladies prayed, but drat,

Just as I was starting to have some fun,

The door was opened, our freedom won,

It was too much excitement for me no longer asleep,

Energized with renewed faith I had found down deep,

My prayers had been answered, I put my siddur aside,

And I celebrated my release with a chat outside.

 

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