A collection of my poems, both old and new.
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"The Nun and the Drunkard"
He stumbled into the funeral,
kind of crossed himself
in an obscure sort of way before
falling into the pews,
kneeling in a dim-eyed prayer.
After the service, on the way to the burial,
she approaches him, allows him to lean,
arm around her stalwart
neck and she
challenges him.
With a second's hesitation, he replies, his voice
a slur.
"Sister," he says, his shattered face soft
against her shoulder.
"We've all got our habits to kick."
˗ˏˋ・。☆.・゜✭・. AUTHOR'S NOTES ✫・゜・。.・。. ✭
A lightly fictionalized account of an interaction I observed while in Nicaragua. I was struck by the kindness, patience, and mutual affection between the two, despite the difficulties of the moment. I was too far away to hear what was said so the punch line is my own invention.
