The Deacon

"Please, be my godson," was his sincere request;
Asking and pleading on the Lord's day of rest.
Yet his desire was not for God's will,
But to drink his erotic fill.

"Keep this secret, just us two;
It'll be so exciting and new."
A tender pat here, a juicy kiss there;
Love for the Lord he would swear.

The caustic stench of his smokes,
The malodorous aftershave between tokes.
Sitting so disgustingly on his lap,
Which, in fact, smelled like crap.

His secret, to my parents, I confessed;
Saving myself from utter distress.
Their letter to him in an asbestos envelope
Warned of punitive consequences for his next grope.

All victims heed the word of compassion:
We'll all heal in time, after a fashion.
Burned in my memory, those forty years prior;
You'd best beware the priest, the deacon, the friar.