This poem of mine, my angry screed on the booze-soaked unctuous hypocrite Catholic priest who was my high school principal in the small-town Catholic school where I became the first National Merit Finalist in the school's history, was written originally some time ago, yet, in view of my blog post on "spirituality," takes on a new timeliness. This priest/principal, who previously to my achieving the National Merit honor, had talked to me only three times prior, and all those times only to reprimand me. But now, since I was National Merit, he couldn't have enough to do with me! His unctuous fawning made me feel unclean. A teacher I had then said this priest was a very shy man who used alcohol to overcome his shyness. So, my "spiritual" victimization was probably also an alcohol-induced victimization!--GF
IN UNSENTIMENTAL
REMEMBRANCE
(A True Story of a
True Priest)
by
George Fish
Padre Pop-Tart Jesus!
Holy Priest!
I’m sure you don’t remember me,
you ignored my existence when I was a
junior.
You spoke to me just three times then.
each time only to reprimand me.
I’m sure you’ve also forgotten how
I was the first National Merit Finalist
in St. Mary’s history,
and how you oozed on me for that.
Always wanting little chats about my
glorious future,
your unctuous fawning on me
making it clear
that it wasn’t my future that mattered.
What really mattered
was your chance to bask in my reflected
glory.
Padre Fish-on-Friday Anchovy!
Holy Priest!
How I hate you for your oily slime.
You made my National Merit honor
turn into ashes in my mouth.
You showed me how much contempt you really
had for me
when you unctuously fawned all over me.
For you saw not the person I was,
you saw not the troubled brainy youth
trying to survive in a world that hated
him.
No, you saw only the National Merit honor.
An honor you wanted to aggrandize for
yourself.
I was just a pawn in your venal chess
game.
You make me want to vomit!
Padre Divine Quintessence Pizza!
Holy Priest!
Is there plenty of booze for you now
in that nether world wherever you are?
Is there a stand-up bar in Hades?
Do you still use booze
to cover up
your shyness,
your inauthenticity,
your unctuous insincerity?
Are you still as phony as you were
when you were my high school principal?
Always being sure to be oh-so-so
much on the right side,
the respectable side,
the winning side.
You weren’t one to back losers.
Nosiree!
And I was a loser when I was a junior,
a transfer student with so-so grades,
coming from a school where gangs ruled
and I had to play dumb so I wouldn’t be
beaten up.
You were much, much more concerned
with outward appearances and surface
gloss.
So you didn’t see me at all
when I was a junior.
But that sure changed when I became a
senior!
I’d gotten a new paint job—
one that had “National Merit” written all
over it.
Ooh, you loved that!
At last!
Your big chance
to steal some light from my radiant glory.
How much had you been drinking
when you oozed all over me?
More—or less—than when you reprimanded me?
So busy hiding your drinking,
so dishonest,
so unwilling to face up to your problem
and what you really were.
No, you couldn’t do that.
That was too authentic.
So you went on burying your shyness behind
booze,
unctuousness and lick-ass fawning.
Not caring at all whom you hurt,
and whose achievement you turned into
cheap and tawdry tinsel.
Not caring at all.
Padre Blessed Virgin Spirit-rape!
Holy Priest!
You’ve been dead many, many years.
But you know what?
I still hate you for what you did to me.
Yes, Padre Spirit-rapist,
you still make me want to vomit!
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