Lee Evans

Sweltering in the upper room
Of a run-down apartment house,
Divided against myself,
I brooded over her postcard.

Her handwriting blurred as I
Hunched over, sobbing, sobbing,
To no one in particular:
“Why can’t she leave me alone?”

The bells of Saint Mary’s Church
Resounded along Spa Creek,
Offering up their vespers
To the Bright and Evening Star.

The cross atop her spire stretched
Its holy arms, embracing all
Who labor heavy laden with
The Everlasting Gospel.

I tore it into shreds, and leaned
Against the grimy windowpanes
That overlooked the one way street
That ended at her altar.