They used to knock on doors in pairs, young believers
selling The Watchtower.
I forget which – oh, no, it was the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
And they always wore ties.

We lived in an apartment in Belton and a man
in the unit next door had some
semblance of religiousness, or, at least
that’s what he made clear to my mother when
she had to ask him for a jump one morning
when her car didn’t start.

I think I was waiting for the Kinks song
to start so I could hit play because I had
a cassette recorder, but there was a knock.
My sister got to the door before me,
but there was the religious man.

As we both stood there, he admitted
his sin, that he’d made up reasons
to be outside to look at us
before we caught the bus to school.

Then he asked for our forgiveness,
and I guess we nodded our assent to such.
Not much later, we moved and never saw the religious man –
that one, anyway – ever again.