The Chop Shop

What will happen to his image, once he’s gone?
He looks at the stained effigy and wonders.
He taps the window pane and will atone.

His father had dreamed that he would be blessed and done
with the wallflower summer of his youth, but his son defers
what will happen to his image, once he is gone.

He watches the door and aisles with small, numb
digits that preen, that eyeball from outside in slight fervor.
He taps the window pane and will atone.

This mansion dream of God and money, he calls home.
This calling, this wife, this prayer, should come first.
What will happen to his image, once he is gone?

He stands and rises to the pews; a moment
of silence washes over, his mouth pursed.
He taps the window pane and will atone.

Those moons, with divots, in one fell swoon,
They phase over a naked finger that imprints
what will happen to his image, once he is gone.
He taps the window pane and will atone.