Ronan Churchill

The Great Wall of China
never blocked Mongolian horseman
like Ronan blocks reason.
Catholicism is the perfect label, he insists,
as if his religion is significant
beyond this Milky Way backwater.

With enough venom to kill a herd of elephants,
Ronan accuses me of spewing nonsense,
for suggesting the first pope was Emperor Constantine.
To me it’s a trivia question,
as insignificant as the length of Elvis’ sideburns.
As if an unbroken papal lineage of two millennia
could rescue the church
from the absurdity of a virgin birth
and fence sitting between creationism and evolution.
Credibility doesn’t come with age,
just ask Rolf Harris.

Taking Ronan seriously, is harder
than solving a shapeshifting Rubik’s Cube blindfolded.
He can’t see the guilt trap
in banning premarital sex and masturbation,
contraception and abortion.
May as well ban breathing and suffocation.
We have sinned
and God demands
we drag boulders of guilt,
until sweet release in the confessional.
Denying the guilt traps is as idiotic
as ingesting a Valium burger
in preparation for a striking contest
with a rattlesnake.

The Great Wall of China
never blocked Mongolian horseman
like Ronan blocks reason.
The church runs addiction counselling services,
while its community clubs are awash with alcohol
and crammed with poker machines.
It’s alright if Supersonic Sid Salisbury
breaks Vince Cyclone Capone’s jaw,
in the auditorium, that’s rated G.
Risk is royalty, but nothing risqué okay.
No tasteless prancing and lascivious dancing
and nipples tassles cause all sorts of hassles.

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