Some holy family tercets

(for LP, again)

-dead pastor-

From car lot and yellow horizon, the odd staid child in tow

and straight to the musty blinds of a second home

was how it always began--

the cute pouty girl I saw, that is, in her mom's Spring hems,

whose classroom came with mirror and pitch pipe,

crepe ribbons tacked to the boards,

who'd sensed, of all things , the diamond halls were unholy--

and why? because she'd found no shoot of light anywhere

just some mold and cold bathroom stalls.

none even in the church nave as her kids viewed a dead pastor,

(right after recess) and then said some Stations,

I saw the virgin arms uncross

as she said, "The church can't be both a tomb and comfy pews, can it?"

and more perfunctorily yet, "Ha, we're all living in a bubble",

and then drop languidly to her sides

I replied, that those red-knuckled kids we always met at final bell

( in some glassy-eyed rage!) crashing the exit doors, they did, too

By now the fresh teacher bloom had clearly faded, Sears bag in hand,

heels clicking over concrete floors