At The Confessional Box... Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is this boy
who looks like me when i was once a boy like him

who as taught by the priests
of the catholic schools have to be on a regular confession
inside that box where the priests
listens....

(Father i have sinned, i have not gone to confession
for a week and these are my sins...repeat, repeat, repeat,
and the priest, perhaps tired and
bored says...

my little son, say three hail marys, five our fathers, and 2 glory bes
and if you have time

write a poem) .

and so the poems since then were written.
the boy did not stop to live within that confessional box
the priest died
earlier than expected.