The Wages Of Sin

A late night deposit

from my spirit to my soul

 

A transfer without interest

its currency stole

 

The main door won’t open,

the drive-thru is dark

 

One last check to write

with my chariot parked

 

The clerk’s eyes on fire,

as she asks me my name

 

“It’s there on the check”

I repeat in refrain

 

“Your last transfer I see,

we’ll be losing you now

 

“The account to be closed

—take the elevator down”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

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