---

When I was young, proud, and strict in my sin,

forgiveness a simple act, without blame,

I stole unblessed church wine, and, in the name

of Christ, got drunk behind the garbage bin

outside the breezeway doors. My head would spin

until I fell, and laughed, my skin aflame,

my vomit-stained denims, glory, not shame.

I was happy. Asphalt rocks pierced my skin.

Now, some nights, when I’ve had too much to drink,

alone, with my cat, I fancy my youth,

carefree, cavalier, an iconoclast.

Then comes the sun, and work, and bills, the stink

of life. Hungover, I devise a past

that never was. I know the way of truth.

---

Richard Stimac lives in the St. Louis, Missouri (USA) area. He has published two poetry books: Blood, Water, and Stone (Spartan Press, 2026); and Bricolage (Spartan Press, 2022). Richard explores time and memory through the landscape and humanscape of the St. Louis region. He invites you to follow his poetry Facebook page: “Richard Stimac poet”.