Tuesday, September 6, 2011


Why do I only remember
clearly the bad things I've
done? Like cross myself a
hundred times in all directions
at first Holy Communion and a little
boy like me looks over and says, "That's
not funny," God? And when I
tied that boy's shoelaces together
under the playground bench? He fell
and cut his knee, and
But I make up all those times
I did my chores or held, for some
old ladies, the door, overlooking--
I guess Saint Peter wrote them
down, well I hope he wrote them
down, so when he brings them up
I can say, "Oh, yeah that was clearly me!"
and he can say, and smile, and say,

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