Go to it. Collar him. Catch another one.
Take him in the apse, past the confession booth,
where stained light ignites a martyred youth.
Make him kneel, open mouthed. Do it and be done.
Compel him to surrender, yield, obey,
to learn by rote what he’s supposed to say,
just like the Confiteor and Kyrie.
Demand he linger after Mass today.
Have him in the rectory. Press him hard
and long. Constrain, shatter him. Fill his holes
with your indulgences. Leave him scarred,
ruined, bruised. Drop him in your well of souls.
Strip, bend, break him now. Your will be done,
in the name of the father’s ghostly son.