Friday, April 3, 2015

Page 693 (18.104-144) "over you you cant... never goes to church"

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over you you cant help yourself
I wish some man or other would take me sometime when hes there
and kiss me in his arms
theres nothing like a kiss long and hot down to your soul
almost paralyses you

then I hate that confession
when I used to go to Father Corrigan
he touched me father and what harm if he did
where and I said on the canal bank like a fool
but whereabouts on your person my child
on the leg behind
high up was it
yes rather high up
was it where you sit down
yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom right out and have done with it
what has that got to do with it
and did you whatever way he put it I forget
no father
and I always think of the real father
what did he want to know for when I already confessed it to God

he had a nice fat hand the palm moist always
I wouldnt mind feeling it
neither would he Id say by the bullneck in his horsecollar
I wonder did he know me in the box
I could see his face he couldnt see mine
of course hed never turn or let on

still his eyes were red when his father died
theyre lost
for a woman of course
must be terrible when a man cries let alone them
Id like to be embraced by one in his vestments
and the smell of incense off him like the pope
besides theres no danger with a priest if youre married
hes too careful about himself
then give something to H H the pope for a penance

I wonder was he satisfied with me
one thing I didnt like
his slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hall
though I laughed
Im not a horse or an ass am I
I suppose he was thinking of his father
I wonder is he awake thinking of me
or dreaming am I in it
who gave him that flower he said he bought

he smelt of some kind of drink not whisky or stout
or perhaps the sweety kind of paste they stick their bills up with
some liqueur Id like to sip
those richlooking green and yellow expensive drinks those stagedoor johnnies drink
with the opera hats
I tasted once with my finger
dipped out of that American that had the squirrel
talking stamps with father

he had all he could do to keep himself from falling asleep
after the last time
after we took the port and potted meat
it had a fine salty taste yes
because I felt lovely and tired myself
and fell asleep as sound as a top
the moment I popped straight into bed

till that thunder woke me up God be merciful to us
I thought the heavens were coming down about us to punish us
when I blessed myself and said a Hail Mary
like those awful thunderbolts in Gibraltar
as if the world was coming to an end

and then they come and tell you theres no God
what could you do if it was
running and rushing about
nothing only make an act of contrition
the candle I lit that evening in Whitefriars street chapel
for the month of May
see it brought its luck
though hed scoff if he heard
because he never goes to church




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