Saturday, 18 June 2022

The Preacher’s Kiss

by Nick Gisburne

When I was only half a traitor tall,
The village was a happy, peaceful place.
No criminals; we caught and killed them all,
Or branded ‘I am evil’ on their face.
If someone passed the paranoia line,
The one my daddy drew in strangers’ blood,
The womenfolk would boil their brains in brine,
And dance till daylight, naked, smeared with mud.
We children had a special place to go:
The penance pool; they dipped us twice a day.
In winter, hungry, freezing in the snow,
The first to cry was always made to pay.
    Delightful days, but never will I miss
    The secret saved for me, the preacher’s kiss.