on the other side of confessional
screen.
my knees
ache already
from kneeling, and we've
only just now
got started.
it's been five decades
since my last
confession, i tell him,
then continue on with
the script
that i'm reading on my
phone
through the Catholic
channel app.
i know it's him,
he knows
it's me.
but we pretend otherwise.
after all
it's the church.
what's church without
mystery,
smoke and mirrors.
i mumble off a few
transgressions,
sins
of the menial kind.
just a few
minor infractions
part B's
of the ten commandments.
small potatoes in the scheme
of things.
no mortal sins
to speak of.
i wait for my penance
when i finish,
but there's silence.
i hear him breathing heavily.
rattling his rosary.
i feel like
he needs a cigarette
and a drink.
and then, he says,
is that all? really?
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