ST. PETER AT THE GATE
St. Peter at the Gate
He was leaning against the gate
with his hands in his jeans pockets
like he’d been there a long time
or wasn’t in a hurry. “All those receipts,”
he said, “that you took such care to
retrieve out of your pockets,
ironing them flat with your hands,
stapling, making notations on them
sometimes… What was that all about?”
– Copyright © 2009 Theresa Whitehill, All Rights Reserved
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This is one of my favoritist poems! St. Peter at the gate, indeed. And here I thought he rode a star-sided pinto. Wrong saint.
CW
Dear Coyote Woman — glad you like it; it’s part of a series called “Penny Dreadfuls” that come from observations of living and working in a semi-rural california town. Theresa