Pastoral Counseling by Joe Dees

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Her weeping is a tiny, tinny sound
Crawling from the fallen receiver.
Precautions have failed us. We have
A Situation to address. She
Came to me for consolation
A troubled teen unable to
Handle her desires: nor I mine.
Her flesh was firm and ripe
And mine weak.
I have betrayed faith, flock, family
And the trust they and this girlchild
Placed in me. Unable to
Bear this revelation spreading further
I choose my sole recourse, to betray anew
And to embrace iniquity and
Lie with abomination.

I lift the receiver and speak to her
In practiced tones, both balming and commanding.
Go to the clinic, I tell her; I'll pay for it.
And shiver as ghost nails
Rake my back like a lover's clutches:
A dead hare crossing the grave of my convictions.