Salvation
 
The doctor's pleasure on Saturdays
was to drive out to the hotel
and behind its ivy-veiled facade
its dark and crimson draperies
to feel up the chambermaids
the fillies de chambre he called them
in an unreserved guest room.
At Sunday Mass he took communion
with a little Mona Lisa smirk
and people called him a hypocrite
though he never confessed a sin
and sinned again: he never confessed
but used his power of absolution
for if a maid got into trouble
he'd dispense a cleansing curettage
leaving her in statu quo he'd say,
exhausted between stained sheets,
and be home in time for tea.

Published in The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry 2011) and You've Been Great (Smith/Doorstop 2008)
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