Poet 11586


I walked into the old church
To make my mock confession.
I didn't believe one thing I said
And as for my supposed sins,
There wasn't much i could do
About them,having grown
Into them like a young boy
Grows into his older brother's
. And yet I sat down
And confessed my catalogue
Of sins to this stranger,who
Spoke in a heavy Spanish
Accent and gave me for my
Penance a few psalms to read,
Which,of course,I never did.
What did I gain from such
A strange, impulsive fraud
Of a few minutes of my time?
Maybe an attempt, vain and
Venal, to find the boy I was
When I served Mass so long
Ago or maybe just talking
To someone I did not know
Nor would ever see again.
He blessed me ,I thanked him
And sat awhile in a wooden pew,
Doing my poor paltry penance
For all that I could not undo.