Before a flock of no more than twenty,
Reverand Betham gives his second-to-last sermon.
There were no signs of it in him then.
Forgiveness, he talks about
Forgiving; the backs of heads nod
Between pews in the dust and the August heat.

Is anyone still surprised
That this is happening?
Where is Reverend Betham
Now?

People murmur because Betham
Is no longer allowed to teach
Sunday school.  I still see him
In his office, late nights, reading—
His lamp is always on.  It seems
So obvious to me now, when I think of
How he would fold the small
White robes and run his hands
Over them to smooth their creases.

Sunday, and the Reverend is granted
One farewell sermon, provided
He makes his apology.  Today it is even
Warmer; white paper fans swat
The air between the pews.  A crowd
Has come, only to curse the Reverend
As he enters the church.  I would later ask myself
What caused this?  What violent undertow
Has dragged the Reverend to the pulpit?
I, like any other, am also at the pulpit for my trial.
From the back of the church, I can hear
The click-click of the reporters’ cameras.