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Snickering like the Pharisees After he led two hymns, after he said, “Good morning in God’s name,” Waldo Braughler Read a Bible passage, a parable Or a history that celebrated The same Sunday each year like a birthday. I had perfect attendance, so I knew Zacheus in the tree was October, The second Sunday, that the last worker Hired for the vineyard would earn equal pay In the middle of May, understanding Those stories were lessons about the ways We needed God, while I watched the spaces Between the buttons on the tight white blouse Of Dolores Daugherty, the gleaming White thigh of Connie Metz, dropping one dime Into the offering and keeping one For myself, repeating my own story Of lust and greed, certain I could repent Like the thief on the cross, be forgiven Like the Prodigal Son if I could make Myself say I’m sorry, open my mouth As I did for hymns, lip-synching the words To the earnest voice of Waldo Braughler, My lips forming penance, then snickering Like the Pharisees when Waldo started Paul on the road to Damascus because I had learned it was epilepsy, not The bright light of God that converted him. p34 1FINCKE_pages.qxd 5/21/08 9:31 AM Page 34 ...

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