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. 