new poem in the style of lucille clifton

Father Fernando 

this stall feels cramped, almost

making me want to tell him

everything, it reeks of use,
and paranoia is the only thing
heard in the silence.  where
murderers and chronic masturbators
once sat, cheaters and thieves,
and me. and i don't know where
I fall in the spectrum. but he makes me
feel at ease, calling me child.
done this countless times, i wonder
if he ever gets surprised by the waste
and used sins that flush through him
a toilet of a man.

in the style of Lucille Clifton, an amazing poet