Stains

Every night an angel appears
with his beatific broom
and begins to clean up
the contemptible confession booth,
shaking his head as he does so.

He is always at a loss to understand
what these mortals leave behind,
littering the floor and splattering
on the walls of this tight space.

What disgusts him most, though, is how they depart,
convinced by the quack who rules this space,
dispensing absolution like an ignorant pharmacist,
that even the stains have been removed.