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.
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