Martha Maguire sits
in the back pew of the church
cigarette between fingers,
smoke drifting slowly
to the high beams and tiled roof,
her blue eyes focusing on the Crucified
His arms stretched wide
His head lowered
His eyes shut
the skimpy cloth
about His midriff
nails in hands and feet
and wound in the side
a slit of red paint revealed,
she takes a drag on the cigarette,
inhales deeply holds the cigarette
just away from her lips and
with no effort releases
the smoke in a steady stream
over the pew in front,
the Crucified's skin
has a yellowy sheen to it,
the crown of thorns have
acquired cobwebs and dust,
only her in the church
silence except for distant traffic,
Magdalene had talked
of the priest and one
of the nuns and some
kind of thing going on,
Martha muses
watching the smoke rise,
the young priest not the old codger,
which nun was it?
not St Agnes that's for sure
she'd only *** out of
her thingamajig,
as would most of the sisters
no doubt,
Sister Lucy was it?
maybe can't recall the gossip,
she inhales deeply again
scratches an itch
on her thigh,
Mary Moran and her ways
with the boys
and she only fourteen too
as am I,
she smiles recalling
what Mary said of Brian Brady
and what he tried to do
put your hand in some other
girl's private place not mine
she said she said,
the Crucified hangs in silence
not a word
not a judgement,
some days she's sure His head
lifts and He gazes at her
with an awkward smile,
His eyes half open
the **** thorns pushing
His hair over His eyes,
the door at the far end opens
and the young priest enters
in his black garb
like a young rook
on the prowl,
he genuflects
and makes the sign of the cross,
then peers down towards Martha
who hides her cigarette
out of sight,
the smoke drifting less so
but under the lower pews,
he looks away
goes to the altar
fiddles with things
goes to the tabernacle
and opens the door
and fiddles inside,
she looks at her cigarette,
lowers her head
and takes a swift inhalation,
then sits back up
gazes at the priest
**** arsing about,
the cigarette between fingers
out of sight,
and she thinking
if it was the priest and Sister Luke
and the carrying ons
and what and where if so,
anyway she muses
letting the smoke drift
from her lips
what do they know?
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
Martha Maguire sits
in the back pew of the church
cigarette between fingers,
smoke drifting slowly
to the high beams and tiled roof,
her blue eyes focusing on the Crucified
His arms stretched wide
His head lowered
His eyes shut
the skimpy cloth
about His midriff
nails in hands and feet
and wound in the side
a slit of red paint revealed,
she takes a drag on the cigarette,
inhales deeply holds the cigarette
just away from her lips and
with no effort releases
the smoke in a steady stream
over the pew in front,
the Crucified's skin
has a yellowy sheen to it,
the crown of thorns have
acquired cobwebs and dust,
only her in the church
silence except for distant traffic,
Magdalene had talked
of the priest and one
of the nuns and some
kind of thing going on,
Martha muses
watching the smoke rise,
the young priest not the old codger,
which nun was it?
not St Agnes that's for sure
she'd only *** out of
her thingamajig,
as would most of the sisters
no doubt,
Sister Lucy was it?
maybe can't recall the gossip,
she inhales deeply again
scratches an itch
on her thigh,
Mary Moran and her ways
with the boys
and she only fourteen too
as am I,
she smiles recalling
what Mary said of Brian Brady
and what he tried to do
put your hand in some other
girl's private place not mine
she said she said,
the Crucified hangs in silence
not a word
not a judgement,
some days she's sure His head
lifts and He gazes at her
with an awkward smile,
His eyes half open
the **** thorns pushing
His hair over His eyes,
the door at the far end opens
and the young priest enters
in his black garb
like a young rook
on the prowl,
he genuflects
and makes the sign of the cross,
then peers down towards Martha
who hides her cigarette
out of sight,
the smoke drifting less so
but under the lower pews,
he looks away
goes to the altar
fiddles with things
goes to the tabernacle
and opens the door
and fiddles inside,
she looks at her cigarette,
lowers her head
and takes a swift inhalation,
then sits back up
gazes at the priest
**** arsing about,
the cigarette between fingers
out of sight,
and she thinking
if it was the priest and Sister Luke
and the carrying ons
and what and where if so,
anyway she muses
letting the smoke drift
from her lips
what do they know?
