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We Know What He’s Done

The cavernous sea
Erupts at my feet.
All the horrors of an Empire
Come crashing down.

A Priest, they call him.
But we know what he’s done.
He lies on the sand
Wheeze. Wheeze.
Dying, they say.
But we know the truth.
A plague, perhaps,
A scar upon the surface
Of an otherwise beautiful sea.

Despite everything, he clutches her –
His statue of the Virgin Mary.
Wrapped in a box,
She is protected from his ways.
Yet she cries.
Her bloodshot, human eyes
Sob with such vigour
That we wonder,
Can nobody save this poor Virgin?

I want him off this beach.
Him and his statue make me sick.
We know what he’s done.
And we certainly know why she’s crying.

By Patrick Kelleher


One comment on “We Know What He’s Done

  1. Wow. That’s so good.

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