Purgatory: Worse Than Hell?

By Steven Jaindl
 

(Editor’s Note: The Pittiful News sent an investigative journalist to purgatory to detail his experiences. The following article is excerpted from a prolix poem he wrote, delivered to The Pittiful News offices by Virgil)

I find myself walking toward an edifice;

What this building is or what it does contain

I do not know as it was steeped in a mist.

I use not heroic couplets or quatrains,

For this is purgatory and I must use

Terza rima, with compositional pains.

As I walk a man trails me like a caboose;

Nearly together we approach a glass door,

Which I open easily for it was loose.

Turning my head I wish I could ignore

That my compatriot is quite far behind,

Although not so far as to not hold the door.

Thinking to myself, “To him I shall be kind!”

I hold the door for him as he keeps walking;

He comes no closer, and I am in a bind.

I ponder, “Shall I persist in my holding

Of this door for this man until I am numb?

Or should I continue my walk, committing sin?”

This dilemma persists ad infinitum

As I hold this door ‘til I am beyond sick

In this timeless, frictionless continuum.

My advice: to stragglers be a complete dick,

And do not hold any doors in their midst;

And if you plan to die, don’t be Catholic.