officious Ethics

Officious Ethics

It was a cold winter day with persistent rain
I was broke and walked past cafés where
people smoked and drank beer; warm indoor
faces and eyes that sparkled with hilarity.
The door of the town’s cathedral was open
I went in there found a secluded place and
a church circular from a corner table sat and
pretended to read about churchly affairs.

On the floor, by my feet, a folded green fifty
Kroner’s note, enough for four pints of beer
and a packet of cigarettes. Despondency over
I could now join the happy society again, but
inborn integrity reared its head; “You have no
right to the money put it in the collection-box.”
It was cold I had no sense of moral victory as
I walked past cafes, cursing my Achilles' heel.