They Call Me Jack
I knelt down before my confession,
and it took a while,
in the shadows he saw the dim
outline of my profile,
the church was hollow, empty, black,
and what crossed my mind
was the women who feared my attack,
Father,
I would like to tell you of my sin,
I feel a loss,
and I don’t know how to begin,
lifting my hand to make the Sign of the Cross,
what I did was wrong,
I have sinned so often and for so long,
confessing felt strange,
I don’t know how to change,
nor how to confess before God,
the priest turned,
my emotions burned,
then I held my breath,
Father,
death after death,
I have walked the streets
like the Grim Reaper,
and that’s when the dead would call,
Father,
I don’t think I fear God at all,
I would decide who would die,
and who would live,
and I know God is infinite
in his capacity to forgive,
the priest slid the wooden panel back,
just a crack,
what’s your name boy,
Jack, they call me Jack
© 2011 Frank Atanacio