It was a Thursday. I was on
my way to choir practice. And yet,
that particular Thursday, I quit,
or maybe I was fired, funny how memory
doesn't work. I had lasted just over
a year-got my surplice and then got out.

I remember the choirmaster,
Mr. Glover. His parking
spot was continuously vandalized-
the G crossed out. We had purple
gowns and matching beanies.
I don't remember the church's
denomination. Since I didn't have one myself,
I could belong anywhere. The church
was big, old, dark and beautiful.

All choirs were paid a cut of the plate;
the evil lies in the divvying.
They couldn't just pay everyone
the same, that might be communist or something.
Soloists, years of service,
if you were a man, you got more money.
The men's choir sang
at eleven a.m. and had a bigger collection.
The women sang at nine a.m.
I think I got two dollars and seven cents.

But I was always late to rehearsal-
I was never meant to be a worm catcher.
Seeing the closing minutes of Dark Shadows
was important to me.
I also threw up a few times
during services.
In the end, my only regret
was never going back to see Jack. It's
as if I took his donut
and left him at the counter,
waiting.

Jack Dempsey
by Carolyn Clink


NOTES:

Appeared in the chapbook,
Snapshots
May 2007.