The Bishop by William C. Blome

Hearing the bishop bang the sidewalk with his crozier
to draw the attention of a stately sycamore,
and then watching him slowly raise his arms in front
of the tree so all the leaves might drop off together,
I didn’t see why I couldn’t do the same thing behind
your back to make your choir robe slide off and onto
the floor, but as it turned out, a stray computer repair
man came into the sacristy at more or less a central
moment, and it was he who appeared to benefit most
from witnessing your panty-and-bra foundation.
His mistake, however, was in turning around
and running back out to his van for a condom.
That gave me the time I needed to usher the bishop
back to the church, have him raise his robed arms
once more, and craft you into a floppy sumac.

William C. Blome

William C. Blome lives in the States, between Baltimore and Washington, DC. He is a master’s degree graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars. His work has appeared in mags such as The Alembic, Amarillo Bay, Prism International, Fiction Southeast, Roanoke Review, Salted Feathers and The California Quarterly.

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