Lapsed as I am, I doubt 
I’ll ever pass by a church or hear its distinct bell 
ring out to me 
without crossing myself. Or not feel a tinge of regret 
for again giving up 
nothing for Lent. Or feel my body shift 
when a comedian 
attacks the Church. Or watch a sex scene without imagining you 
watching me 
like a security camera and judging me on the footage. 
Or hear my mother 
say he’s watching you and meaning it as both comfort 
and caution, 
and what if I’m on the path she warned me about, 
but isn’t this punishment enough? 

Bio: Jonathan Fletcher