coming to account after the acts 

in the beginning, the confessional list

was somewhat truthful, an examination

of errant deeds usually with equally wayward friends.

later, the list was a quick invention.

we were busy.

we had bikes to attend to

and the girls were changing their shapes.

later still, no list was necessary;

the same sins recited on a weekly loop.

the new testament refers to this as

regurgitations in the face of God.

Priest knew. Priest didn’t give a shit.

Priest was waiting for the juicy stuff;

confessing the act of self abuse in the still of the night

or the back row gropings with Saint Shirley of Locust Street

in the balcony of the Strand on Pleasant and 

lesser engagements like..

smoking cigarettes in the meadow behind the billboards,

or tempting the slow-witted Micheal Joseph, the kid

with two first names, into drinking mercurochrome because

one of us said it tasted like strawberries.

but in the end it was always the same admissions and dispositions:

two "our father's" and two "hail Mary's" and one "act of contrition".