Art Wielgus Poet Free verse

The Black Pharisee

She left and from this point on, she new 
that the crook priest Gurgul will not give back her monies. 
When he was angry he resembled the raven
with his heavy, straight black hair and dark small eyes, 
with his nose protruding little higher. 
Especially when he wore black cassock and walked slowly
with his both hands in deep pockets of the cassock 
as if he was making sure,
that the monies of old widow are still in his deep pockets.
When she left, the priest lacked the door to his condominium,
stood there listening if her shoes clunked on the stairs 
and he was combing his hair, 
up his forehead with forked fingers of his left hand. 
Then still holding the doorknob with his right hand 
he whispered to himself.   
"These are the best kind of monies for there is no tax on them,
but why is it so hard on these people to let it go? 
Don’t they give it to God?"

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