I tell you you will not get out.
Till you have paid the very last penny.
I know now I will be paid for my doubt.
But I ask about the pennies, how many.

The future worries us.
We will all end up in purgatory.
I will try not to make a fuss.
But in my dream I saw myself trudging through an endless quarry.

I saw the priest far ahead in the queue.
His shoulders sloped as he was trudging.
We were both in the same stew.
We both received the same purgatorial mugging.

I can console myself and this I note.
We will most of us be in the same boat.