Good Friday

by Joseph Helminski

That morning were cases of missing declarations,
sheets of blank paper, throbbing cursors.
At noon, clouds sponged up the dripping light.
The earnest traveled to every vacant altar
while offices still hummed. By three,
parents resumed seeding as the skies reopened
for perhaps a going out of business sale.
Last chance, the gulls taunted,
as we prepared for our evening meals.