The Mass

The Mass On Palm Sunday, she will go to church, not driven but walk on old feet that hurt for every step, I will sit at home, wait by the phone in case she cannot make it up the hill to the church. A modern church paid for by a German industrialist who was then allowed to built his villa at a nature reservation and thus is the life of commerce. The benefactor has got his name on the wall when he dies will become a seraph nothing less will do , a chief angel or nothing The sermon is long I fiddle with car radio and get some soul riveting Fado. I see my wife walking slowly down the hill and for a moment I think of driving her down, but desist I will never get away with it and I don’t know how to manage without her. We are both obnoxious people a bond that keeps us united now that we are both near the hole in the ground where lies are told.