Lapsed

The construction on Main was a mess of bright cones,

so I cut through the side-street to get to the shop.

The church was just letting out, heavy with drones

of a choir that finally decided to stop.

They’re wearing the wool and the ties and the lace,

while I’m in the car with a bag of hot bread.

I know the exact pull of that door in that place,

and the weight of the brass and the things that were said.