Sunday morning mass

as i kneeled

in church on the hard wood,

at St. Thomas More,

my knees

would hurt.

my back

would grow sore,

under the glare

of stained glass.

my nose

would run from

all the smoke that was

swung around.

we beat our chests,

stood up,

sat down.

i never understood

a word

said, having it all

in Latin at the time.

but i felt guilty,

and dread.

they were good at

that with young boys

and girls.

it wasn't the fear of God

they instilled in you,

it was fear

of man, instead.