I remember the first time I stayed
at The Salvation Army,
after blowing through $5,000 during
a binge,
which lasted damn near two
long months,
just more

than three years back.

Talk about a conflict

of interests …

A gay man,
checking himself
into –

The Salvation Army.

Regardless,
I’d somehow managed to stifle
my animosity toward religion
successfully

for a whole six months.

I attended A.A.
meetings,
as well as church …  
services.

I took what I liked
and flatly left the
rest –

behind.

I distinctly remember the house
dryer
constantly breaking down,
and me,
having to walk a mile
back and forth
just to dry –

my clothes.

I was 35 the first time
around,
and I remember how a young man
named Eric,
became quite attached to
me,

rather quickly.

He used to throw pennies
at my bed
at one o’ clock in
the morning …
my cue it was
time
for me to meet him
in the very last
pew

in the men’s room.

And so, I’m
returning,
my head hanging in
shame
from yet

another relapse.

I still feel a lot of animosity
toward religion,
but as a poet whose muse needs   
an overhaul,
another six months –

couldn’t hurt.

Perhaps I’ll tumble
upon
another young chap,
just itching for his first midnight
man-to-man

rendezvous?

But Christ, please,
make this
one

throw quarters.