No fun, being Zech'rias is
My larynx gripped by an iron band.
'Twas priest and penitent, pen in hand
Bound by our diff'rent silences.
Face of Christ for we poor fools
Father waits, his newspaper a loss
Till I, writing slowly, slide across
My ruled list of willfully, knowingly broken rules.
Contrition - mute, easily missed;
Penance and absolution given
In older terms, I've just been shriven.
Then Ador---I still have the list!
Pieces sift down amidst old trash
To be cast aside, unregarded
My sins - listed, torn up, discarded
Unrecycled scraps of the past.
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