The Thread on the Coat

I sat there in Mass
And regarded a thread
On the coat of the woman in front.
I could not let it pass,
It got into my head,
And I tempered my prayers with a grunt.

Like a magnet, my eye
Was drawn onto this string
That clung to her back like a snake,
I was itching to try
And remove the damned thing,
This impossible grooming mistake.

Through responses and psalms,
I ignored the poor priest,
Just dying to reach out a hand.
And the sweat on my palms
Resolutely increased,
For I doubted that she’d understand.

As the people filed out,
She still turned my head
Till her figure became more remote,
Till my wife said, “Old trout!
Do you know you’ve a thread
On the back of your astrakhan coat?”