Mom’s Bustelo espresso fills the morning air No hat- it’s Sunday; have to comb my hair Last week I prayed God would help me shake this thing today we call depression Nothing ever really worked, not even sitting through confession Through the rectory I enter old St. Michael’s church Amongst the dancing flames and Saints my soul resumes its search While getting into the altar boy garb, I looked around this place I hoped that one day I would be righteous enough to be worthy of his grace Last Wednesday I called a kid an asshole, my salvation might just be in peril Nervousness set in, with a gentle smile, there he stood- Father Fitzgerald All my hurt would subside if one day I could walk through that pearly gate I just knew that everyone in St. Michael’s shared that same blissful fate While the ladies in the back row poked fun at all the other ladies like they always do, Father Fitzgerald raised both his hands, smiled, and said “Peace be with you…”