The People At The Tablet

The people at The Tablet
Were feeling low as Hell.
Their lonely little magazine
‘s Not selling very well.

On tables, shelves, old, yellowing
Unsold, the copies lie.
“What can be done to save our jobs?
What is there left to try?”

The sun declined, the wine, undrunk,
Grew tepid in the glasses.
“Why don’t we imitate The Sun,
Pitch at the unchurched masses?

“We could be tabloid, topless, pert,
Support the Hierarchy –
Rubbish Hans Kung, attack the Prods
Call ‘We Are Church’ mularky.

“Proclaim Humanae Vitae and
Damn heresy and schism,
Show Stanford and that lot the door
And plug the Catechism.”

“Ok, you’re on, let’s seize the day
No time for indecision!
We’ll be with Benedict all the way.
Maybe call for the Inquisition.”

They did it all. Their phoenix rose
And circulation rocketed.
Their sad hearts quailed with guilt , but oh
The profits that they pocketed!