The Wages Of Sin Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

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)