Red Rite Hand

by Adrian Harte

Heads down all around. 
Pressed trousers creased 
by the hassock
until the Great Amen. 
Suffer little children,
but when praying only
so much. I never liked call
and response from Father
Flood to Moby Grape. 
And also with you. 
Lord have mercy.
Twice have mercy. 
Let us pray.
Never stray.  

I knew these lyrics by rote, 
a shit-scared of God scrote. 
His words were made flesh
and were more real than Dylan
or Didion or Dio. 
May the Lord accept 
the sacrifice at your hands.

My father’s razor 
every Saturday, my 
weekly bath, obedient
son. I’d press the blades  
on my right upper arm. 
Blood will be poured
out for me and for 
many, for the forgiveness
of sins. Eleven-year-old me 
is wholly sacrifice. Gullible
gamboling lamb of God.

You can fix this mess, 
you can bear witness.
I prayed you’d keep me free
from sin. I begged 
to be safe from all distress.

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Adrian Harte is from Monaghan, Ireland, but has lived in Switzerland for twenty years. He has recently had work accepted by the Peregrine Journal, Vita Poetica, Embryo Concepts Zine, Roi Fainéant Press, and Abridged. He has also written Small Victories: The True Story of Faith No More, published in 2018.