Patrick M. McGuire

Poems by Pat McGuire

Sunday Morning

He waits alone in the dark car
headlights on
silently thinking
accusing blaming
expectant dreading
desiring lusting
uncertain sure.

She arrives four minutes late
Hardly late at all
His car faces east, hers west
The exchange goes quickly in the cold
the most precious of each
the incarnation of their union
passes from car seat to car seat.

There is no touch between them

He says something
she gets the last word
his car turns south, hers north.

Oh, Lord why do we insist on getting our own way?
Is there nothing more important than how I feel?

Hope

My sins are like scarlet
like scarlet are my sins
I wear them on my belly
I wear them on my chins

In my heart I have forgotten
that I am naught but dust
like David and Bathsheba
my eyes are greedy for lust

But you dearest Brother
are calling to me
Let me bless your eyes
so that you may truly see.

Accept my gift of faith
and faithfully obey
Your disordered desires
will surely fade away

Place your guilty suffering
on the cross with innocent mine
Before our heavenly Father for
all eternity they will shine.

Run to the abode
of my most merciful heart
I'll do it Lord Jesus
right now I'll start

I beg not to be merely covered
but rather cleansed through and through
so that I may join the holy angels
in timeless praise of you.