a day at confession

I get in line for confession
at the local
church
St. Bernadette's.
it's a slow moving line,
people have been so
damn bad lately,
whoops, I put that on the
list. cursing. not good.
men, women, children
with sticky fingers.
I see a few familiar faces,
there's Joe, the gambler,
Jake the snake, who takes
money out of the basket instead
of putting money in,
and Suzi in her short black
skirt with a pocket book
of diamond rings
and a trail of broken hearts
behind her.
I wave to them, they smile
and wave back.
the line inches up.
I look over their shoulders
at their lists.
lots of lying going on.
cheating, deception,
stealing, the usual array
of broken commandments.
adultery, slander, lust
and greed.
after an hour or so,
the priest comes out
to put a sign at the end
of the line, saying,
the line ends here.
he's sweating in his long
silvery green robe.
wiping his forehead
with his arm. Jesus,
he says out loud, staring at
the long line, then
goes back into the confessional
booth.
I look down at my list
and see the usual three things.
I wonder if he's going to
yell at me, or just sigh
and give me a penance of
three hail Mary's and two
our father's like he always
does.
my feet hurt from standing
in line for so long, but
just thinking that feels like
a sin too.
I do wish I had a drink
though, some ice tea or
something.