Rehabilitation

I was what their wives were not. Are not. Will never be. Black.
The cover of the Bibles where their hands rested. Fingers sifted through
white pages thousands of times, but their hands
held the black. Especially the back. An elder’s hand on mine
as we walked into the office. They prayed over me. Asked God
for His Holy Spirit. For wisdom as they tried to help me
stay on the road to everlasting life. I kept one eye open, with steady stir.
They appreciated my bravery before the questions began.
Who had I sexted. Were pictures exchanged. What pornography
I watched. How often I masturbated. K’s cell phone
purred. Their mustaches raked my story, with its soil,
for a fertile spot. P thought it was interesting
I liked watching two men have sex. Watching
a man succumb. Lid, then lens. Lid, then lens.
Mouth unclicking. P shifted in his seat.
Start keeping a graph.
Sin was bravery, and they stole it. They saw
my private parts without asking. They started seeing me
secretly. Confidentially. Covering scripture.