Common Church Poem #poem by Michael Lee Johnson

Sitting here in the pew
splinters in my ass
hours in prayer beg
the quiet life.
Breathing here is so quiet,
so alone, so simple,
you can hear Saints
cleaning my eardrums-
crying here seems
a form of sadistic laughter.
Where’s the priest is he
masturbating at home,
wiping up his sins in
cells of the confessional?
Is he out selling cassette tapes
reaping boredom, spewing glibness
condensed remarks to those, in office,
in need of counsel.
Is the woodpecker outside, I hear,
pecking my brain, calling me insane;
or is he tapping out a new set of rosary beads:
or chisel and a crowbar
to break my sins away?

Sitting here in this church
such a quiet life.

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Author's note:  I remember coming out of exile from Canada after the Vietnam War, needy in search of comfort, I went to see a priest who was bored and more interested in me sexually and if I would buy his cassette tapes.