MISSIONARY IN PETEN
A woman devoted to saints
Of Easter candles and Mass incense
Praised the Lord
Because she had a body
Worthy of merit
That had already been hinted at
More than once
The parish priest in confession:
-My daughter, what's wrong with you?
-A fever, Father
That pierces my heart.
-Do you want me to kill you a bird
Of those you raise at home?
-Yes, kill it for me, Father
When I lift my skirt
And pull down my panties.
This woman had a seven-year-old son
Devoted to that priest
Of whom he became an altar boy.
In a winery owned by his mother
The boy invited him to try
A local wine.
The priest got drunk
From this cool wine
Telling the boy, half-drunk:
-If your mother doesn't change her mind
I want to enjoy your pretty little ass.
-By Saint Isidore!
The boy replied furiously.
I don't want your clapper to ring
On my little ass.
Are you starving, Father?
Having so many bigots
Who, for a little money from the collection box
They will give you some of their chicken.
-You're bad, son.
-No, I'm worse, Father.
If you come down with me, Father
To the back of the cellar
You'll see the wine rack we have
And the best wine to taste.
First, the priest started down.
Behind, the boy.
He grabbed a chair
Breaking three of his ribs.
He grabbed a club
Knocking off his mustache.
He tore his member out by the roots
And gave it to a bat
Which carried it by the beak
To the Hermitage of the Sovereign Virgin.
In the Archbishopric
After a while
Without any news of him
Presuming he was missing
They reported that perhaps
He had left as a missionary
To El Petén in the Republic of Guatemala
Up to his tricks on Flores Island
And Santa Elena de la Cruz.
Copyright © Daniel De Culla | Year Posted 2025
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