Shopping Mall of Grace

Down in the basement of the mall
On the old wooden pews
Of the Carmelite chapel I sit
Waiting for the red light to turn white
For my turn to unload my sins
Like sacks of potatoes
Wound up like a children’s toy against the wall
I push off on the candlelight
And breathe fire
It smells like an old person’s closet
Yet is sweeter than sunrise