I was seven
I knew right from wrong
Or had been told I did
I had reached the age of reason
Along with everybody else
In the second grade

It was time to go to confession
In preparation for Holy Communion
Not my first
But first the examination of conscience
This from experience I knew I could not do

I knew I had sinned plenty
But I could call to mind
None of my offenses
I could carry no effort to its conclusion
I lacked application
And so I lied

I told the priest that I had stolen
A piece of candy from my little brother
Then you must return it to him
Even my childish understanding
Heard the absurdity of the command
But I ate it already
Warming and developing the fiction
Then you must give him money

That night or sometime
Shortly thereafter
I asked my father for a nickel
I never told my brother
Why I gave it to him
Nor you Dear Reader
This memorial
To the invented sin