At the age of four, pinned to the floor
A Catholic priest did darken my door
He damned my mother for taking a lover
To abuse the bastard child she’d bore
Now I am grown, have a child of my own
Do I hate every priest that I see?
Do I carry it home, like a dirty old bone?
And chew it indefinitely?
I can’t see every priest as a sexual beast
What good would bitterness bring?
I would not be at peace, there would be no release
I’d be passing the bone to my kin