Surely God would forgive me, Father,

for taking out that woman,
that sanctimonious saintly gossip
warrioring defender of pecksniffery,
that commandment-shoving
pharisaical witch. I could genuflect
behind her pew, get a bead on her
with my rosary and send her
off to the heavenlies
with prayerful dispatch. Surely
ridding the earth of this snake
in the grass Jezebel
would earn me a jewel in my crown.

On second thought, perhaps not.
For that would mean
He'd have to suffer her sooner
than He had divinely appointed.

April 2007