Divorce Friday
Of all the Fridays,
seriously,
of all the Fridays it had to be
Good Friday.
The papers arrived.
Certificate of Divorce
Death.
Laid on the table,
the death / divorce certificate,
all afternoon.
Not their table,
the one in the photos,
the one with the kids’ birthdays.
Just a table he’d borrowed,
an apartment he’d rented,
on a street that meant nothing to him.
At three,
church,
more alone than he’d felt in his life,
stand, sit, kneel,
Jesus Christ.
Service over,
catatonic.
At first,
didn’t hear the old man,
Son, about you and Meg,
sorry,
you’re welcome here.
Communion.
By Peter Oliver
Photo Attribution Kira Hoffmann