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Does God wear trainers? A Poem about work.



This was written sometime in 1990 or 91 when I was working as an Electrician’s Mate at St James’ Palace and Buckingham Palace.
I was working with a trained electrician called Brian Wombell (he had heard all jokes!). He and I were working in the void above the ceiling in one of the main reception rooms in Buckingham Palace; It was a domed ceiling and had a walkway known as ‘London Bridge’ for access across the dome, this was built when the Palace was built thousands of years ago. We were installing a cable known as a Pyro, a copper encased wire that withstood fire, hence the name. This had to be screwed to the ‘bridge’ and was part of the fire alarm and lighting system. The domed ceiling was inches beneath our feet, we were warned not to drop anything or let any body parts stray off the bridge…..
 

“Does God wear trainers?
Only, I have to ask
Up there can you see?
At the feet of the Blessed Mary
A HiTec or Reebok trainer
Protruding, as though in 3D.”
The Queen looked up, pointed and posed
The above vexed question
To an aide quite thoughtfully.

“Does God wear trainers?”
Asked the Queen of an aide
This time more earnestly
“Not that I am aware M'arm” said he,
“Then that foot poking through there
That bodily extremity
Must, therefore be, an alien entity.”
Said she,

“Well” said he,
“I will make the most urgent of enquiry”
Off dashed the aide hurriedly
The foot remained firmly lodged through Art
With a capital A, most doggedly
An Electrician working above the painted domed gallery
Was screwing conduit to rafters
Totally unaware of anything, quite rashly,
For he was just doing his job quite blissfully.

“Does God wear trainers?”
The question asked had lodged positively
In the now swirling grey matter,
Between the aides ears
He stopped and turned elevating his eyes
To where the size eight trainer did rest
“My Lord, My Stars, My Heaven, I do attest
And forswear as to why in Heaven
That damned foot does there rest!”

“Does God wear trainers?”
The question had not yet been answered
For there the foot poked through Art
Like some modernistic sore thumb
Beneath the Virgin Mary’s feet and blessed incarnality,
Aides gathered and their opinion was lent,
Prince Andrew and Fergie came, 
looked and then went
Shaking their heads in mute bewildered judgement
However, above all this, poor Brian from that hole
His trainered foot could not rend

Down to the imbroglio below
The Electrician’s mate the beleaguered
Brian did send,
With a message from the hell in heaven above,
To increasing Hell below
“Tell them,” said he “ that I did not know,
of the fragility of this ceiling
and of my foot’s imperfect placement,
But say nothing of my hammer’s rapid descent.”
The question remained to those who had gathered below,

“Does God wear trainers?”
Prince Charles was summoned and to the vexed question
His valuable opinion was lent,
“Good God!” said he passionately
“What a monstrosity, what carbuncular protusion
is that pray, beneath the feet of the Blessed Mary?”
“This modern intrusion of unwelcome bent
Must with all haste be removed with a skilled artistic, expungement!”

“Does God wear trainers?”
The question first asked,
the one the Queen had to an aide posed primarily,
Was answered by herself
“Well I quite like it, “ said she,
“it adds a touch of modernity,
To something which is rather quite dour,
compositionally.”

To this end so there Brian remains
He is not, you must understand suffering,
For he is bathed regularly,
Nor does he suffer, nutritionally,
For he has all he can drink and eat,
as he is now a 3D,
Artistic addition to the Dome of The Blessed Mary.

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