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I didn’t know what I would feel about Doug Gay, 
But I looked for a motorbike outside the church, 
To reinforce his black biker jacket and sociology, 
Which superseded church goers and that bunch. 

I made it one of the first things I did in Glasgow, 
To spy on the sanity crutches of its gem leaders, 
Of the contemporary church the ancient throw, 
To understand my place in society, had readers’. 

I actually managed to have a short conversation,
With him, where I did inquire about monasteries, 
And he told me that there was an abby, fixation,
Which he attended often for all his quandaries.

I felt that Doug Gay thought that this discourse, 
Was important for what direction I took for sense, 
And I knew he wished to replace choice, of course, 
For serendipity, onto which god could map, hence. 

It was an ephemeral chat, but I kept the dalliance, 
And I felt efflorescence from my litre against religion, 
Because I’d confirmed that Doug’s bold defiance, 
Of the traditional church was fuelled by abbey liaison. 

He related the bucolic abbey to Christian theology, 
Saying that the Glasgow Christian scene was demesne, 
And was a harbinger to the students was cosmology, 
By relegating the church’s Jesus to erstwhile, totally. 

He said that his god or Jesus had petrichor sweet, 
Unlike the nauseating odour of the church stated, 
Giving him propinquity to redolent credence neat,
Because he was historical, within the abbey gated. 

I appreciated the Late, Late Service somewhat, bits, 
His modern worship service of dance, so rebellious, 
And now the Rev Doug Gay diligently and surely sits,
As a Glasgow University lecturer in studies religious.

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