15.7.24


before the archdiocese locked up churches for the night

priests prowled pews intent on discoveringdisrupting their winter passion
                                                                               Baby  It was cold outside
they waited them out
hid
     scampered like mice
hid behind the organ
exploited all the nooks an crannies
                                      once
ballsy as she was

hid inside a confessional

on Fathers side

watching
           he almost lost his shitclasped both hands over his mouth to muffstrangle the HAHAHAha ah

Arya crazy
           reconnoitering after the priests swept the premises   left
theyd eaten exercised and slightlychilled between church and walking to the rectory on the opposite side of the grounds they wanted their snifters of brandies tumblers of spirit

they just wanted their tumble

they ensconced near the votives really dug the candlelight flickering on the niche ceiling up the walls

ballsy actually lit candles for the deceased  for prayers
                                                            he waited laid on his back on the hard wood pew
try as he may he couldnt avoid thinking of the tawdry joke  Three for a quarter. Go out an blow another.
hed chuckle softly

   shed slip in hip to his head hed open his eyes
                                                          There you are Go well
she usually had tears in her eyes
                                        Yes. Thank you.
Youre welcome


   then shed push away take her hip from his head get on her elbows above him kiss him upsidedown they enjoyed those kisses
              there was much teasingmuch aching keeping their bodies separate their breaths coming faster

then the maddeningstruggle eversoquietly loosening coats clothing clasp zipper cotton underwear  midthigh

ballsy said it wasnt sex
                      Amen
what did he know

he was fifteen

early March, 2024
1231,  Moanday,  15  7. 24
Dean Martin  Baby, It’s Cold Outside.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnYSTnTMGQo

he counted the bonegray skeletal shattered rings
                                                      the receding checkerboard stump
husk  scabbing away
                           he counted inward best he could using the point of his jackknife counted loudly  tickedoff year after year  paused  JABbed the knife in
                                           that ring
the year he was born

counted inward  his parents birthyears   his grandparents birthyears
                                                                             now his family was not in America

at its heart pith  center
                       at its conception    203 rings                


he remembered eight years earlier when it was cut down its stump savaged random crisscrossed inchdeep cuts  chemical tossed on it to render it quicker
                                            defaced it
made it an eyesore
distasteful

when he walked past ears seared by the cutting blades twelve feet of trunk remained

later that afternoon

returning home
                  he stopped
to mourn


he remembered now
                    on a knee knife in his pocket   submitted     he knelt on both as he remembered hearing  the
     tree

 moan   weep

1355,  Saturday,  10  6. 23
0924,  Moanday,  15  7. 24