Peccadilloes
There is nothing but body
and memory interned
with local news
of petty crimes: bilked
and betrayed over sugar,
a perfume bottle missing
from beneath a bed.
Someone divorces
a man who stole
his baby’s milk.
Rumors ripen based on
tales of lives lived
before: the dancer
kicking the housewife
who snores.
The priest’s confessional
is a chamber of horrors—
death wished
on friends, enemies,
spouses, and God—
Deliver us from
evil, deliver us from
here,
deliver us from hunger.
deliver us, deliver us. 
Close Quarters
Peccadilloes
Santo Tomas
Shanty