St. Paul The Sinner

The chapel’s billboard is missing letters, 

long past unreadable. 

Remaining square inserts,

yellow with time

cling to their runners with mildew, rust, 

and various dead bugs 

while their fallen brothers 

lay along the edge 

of a cracked plastic casing. 

The last time I drove by, 

the “e” was still in place. 

Now it has lost its hold

and is down among the rest of the lost letters, 

the white of the backboard 

shining with startling brightness in its absence. 

Would that I could  

find peace in the budding ivy’s presence.

Instead I see it eats into the buckling wood

Choking out it’s final, frail support beams,

trails of stems past left behind like scars on skin

There’s a thunderstorm rolling in, 

the air is heavy 

and warm 

and the clouds don’t match this nice weather. 

With the dust and mud 

that is likely to be flung up

and nose it’s way past the plastic shield, 

I don’t think 

that square of cleanliness will last. 

How fleeting innocence was.