Solitary Men

by Tim McGuire

Solitary men sit apart in pews.

The straight-ahead gazes set in stiff backs;

but a grin from a child can’t be refused.

We move very little, nothing to say;

the sermon gives a scolding, heavy-packed.

Heaven knows hell is a long time to pay.

We’ll recall those words, add some of our own.

Faith can feel strong just before a relapse;

at ourselves we’ll be the first to throw a stone.

I pray, “Please God, give these old dogs a bone;

didn’t the gospel say the dogs get scraps?

Don’t let our hearts succumb to collapse.”

We leave by ourselves but - no longer alone.

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Tim McGuire is a retired Clinical Social Worker who lives in Minnesota with his wife of fifty-two years. He is blessed to bring Eucharist to the home-bound, write to men in prison, and perform piano programs to residents of a senior living facility. His time as a grandpa to four intelligent, brave, and kind granddaughters always brings memorable moments. His articles and poetry have been published in An Unexpected Journal, The Twin Cities Catholic Spirit, the Clayjar Review and The Penwood Review. He can be reached on Substack @writertimmcguire