an old man upstairs has fits of coughing

women make his bed creak fit to bust

he's some sort of evangelical preacher

an expert on the perils of human lust

 

bones in bright sunshine or pouring rain

pressed down by limbs that rarely speak

contorted versions of my wide-open legs

I could make his bed wake up and creak

 

do my vows still apply after these years?

did I endeavour to take the veil in vain?

there she is again on the stairs in heels

I do wonder if she's brought her cane

 

the child died, strangled at birth, by nuns

my parents had entrusted with my care

I'd got impregnated the very first time

a sailor with a bad limp and ginger hair

 

a fiance years later listened to my tale

then called me a whore before leaving

she's giving him the rough stuff tonight

morning sickness has left me heaving

 

mother superior caught me with a priest

at the hearing we faced being defrocked

his mattress sinking as she administers

the unguents with which she is stocked

 

shall it be born on this unsavoury cot

stained by mariners and low harlots?

a rush of lust just negotiated my loins

it sounds like she's tying him in knots

 

no, children are not my bag, I prefer

the ocean wind, free of their wailing

I'll see the doctor on Monday to get

the pills, then it will be plain sailing