TRANSFER

Across the street
from where I work,
a church
with a steeple
high in the air,
a cross on top,
takes up a whole block.
Seems to be empty most of the time.
A little farther
down the street,
a jail
needing paint,
new shingles,
squats on a measly plot.
Seems to be packed all the time.
My father,
a staunch hellfire and brimstone believer,
said
they oughta take them prisoners
to that big ol' church,
lock 'em up,
hold 'em there
till they repent.

~Copyright 1993 Ruth Gillis~

First published in Potpourri November 1993



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