Perfect cook.
Perfect housekeep.
...just like she was for her father.
Now she serves
these holy fathers
with delights that
titilates their palettes
...always wanting more!
And with such propiety
proper to her servitude
she answers to their every whim.
They adore her shanks
of lamb
(she looks boldly the young ones in they eye as they look boldly at her)
her veal
eaten with
almost religious zeal
and drool.
She has them salivating
with her tender breasts
(the old ones are the worst)
of chicken cooked
in a creamy pepper sauce.
They all come
again for seconds.
She smiles at them
the glutton men
giving their c**ks up
for Christ
suppresing their sexuality
for the pride of Mummy
('My son...the priest! ')
indulging in their
own particular littlel voice
(third choir boy on the right) .
She gazes at
the statue
of the Blessed Virgin Mary
and it seems they both
smile...knowingly
remembering her
in London
not as she is now
stripping off
her basque and garters
sliding up
