Years of it
Bled into me
A dare in the back of my mind

“Hello, Father,”
though I’ve long since renounced my title as child
of God

Every ounce tells me to run the other damn way but the collar still commands respect from early years of knowing who’s the boss
Who’s the boss?
Who’s in charge of our bodies if we’re not?

Swing on a needle
The same reason I don’t trust the GP, not really,
Or anyone who holds life in their hands like that,
Though I’m also contracted to trust
To give up, this day
To agree to whatever because they hold the keys, to heaven and the medicine cabinet


“Hello, Father.”

What great big sins you’ve seen, absolved, forgotten,

What great big truths you’ve hidden on the right hand of the Lord


Give us this day our freedom, Father, and we’ve no need for your bread.