lapsed catholic
bred in violence
in indifference to
the suffering of others
prone to chaos
self-indulgence
to appalling precision
in his lying
and manipulation
paul sat on the bench
for the last time
in the back row
of the meeting room
listening between the
unadorned whitewashed walls
to the words to the prayers
of these strangers he now
saw only as fools
his gray hair and gray
beard trimmed and prim
the cane of his dead
father with the worn
ivy carvings on the hardwood
and the dull dragon's head
brass of the grip leaning against
the wool of his pants
next to his good leg
his fit body sweating a bit
beneath the argyle sweater
and the harris tweed blazer
masking the forbidden gun
in the leather holster strapped
below his shoulder a feather
of ash from the steady fire
in the far corner settling like
a gray missive from beyond
on his curled fist
the simplicity
of the hearth
to him unnerving
as it was the only
but remarkably
efficient heat
in the sparse room
in the simple decorum
shielding him from
the icy cold of his winter
the source of the interior light
complementing the natural illumination
diffusing through the narrow windows
he had come on advice
from an acquaintance
of the family arriving
skeptical but
testing
believing
his silence his
anonymity among elders
might atone
for his long unsigned list
of merciless deeds
for his stolen words
that shattered
so many dreams
but he trusted no one
and the silence
and lack of recognition
did nothing but
stoke his anger
at his fatal diagnosis
the conundrum
twisting in his mind
how there is
no sufficient redemption
without the capacity to forgive
to accept forgiveness
a non sequitur
ad valorem
laughing now
to himself how easy
it would be
to end the charade
of pacifism
of austerity
of contemplation
and with his vast wealth
scam the lot
as his last
passing shot
at distracting
from the pain
before the dark