Oh to be a saint the good sisters
Ruined us in childhood
Planting ideas like perfection
Into minds who couldn’t conceive
Of normal or average or good
Or did I get it at baptism or
Was it built into my bones by
Him who knit me deep in the womb
Before you were I knew you
So many of us naturally fret
Over our adequacy what
Is gained by exaggeration
Daily I heard of hair shirts cilices
Mortifications of fleshly desires
Before I even had them
What was so corrupting
About wanting a cupcake
Why should children hear of stigmata
Or learn Isaac Jogues bore the pain of
Axing his foot to free souls
From Purgatory
You wonder why
Catholic kids seem so crazy
When they get a breath of relief from
The unconscious masochism
Of the sisters and brothers
Or how they could be so easily lured
To submit to their perverted fathers
Everyone had their own strategy
For surviving their heads being split
Between holiness which you never could get
And real life where you managed despite
Bitter compromise with
What you were taught
Adults in years confused stifled
Children ungrown
They wouldn’t couldn’t question
The priests who knew all
Who Really Knew Jesus
Oh don’t you pretend to know
Goodness forgiveness charity
Love peace or hope
Until you hear from us
What you should be thinking
Who would blame them for getting
As late into Mass as they could
Leaving as soon as they could
To meet the week’s obligation
Not have to confess to a
Trivial violation of a trivial rule
That would put them in Hell
For all eternity
Religion was just for the pope
Mother Theresa the old babushkas
With rosaries in the rear pews
I’ve got to work at a job
I hate make enough to pay ma
My beers with the guys and somehow
At least once a week
Get into Julie Ann’s pants
If I prayed for anything
It was to have a good life
And sneak into Heaven
With a deathbed confession
c. J.S.Manista, 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment