An Offering

I had a strategy—
   God’s always more pleased with a prodigal.

Skin your knee & the nun says offer it up, think

of St. Lucy her eyes rolling on a plate or was it

her breasts—breasts might be Agatha—anyway

   it’s sick how she moons
   over Sebastian
   fainting & full of arrows—

with the black crayon
I give the boy in my book 
long curling hair

I add some arrows 
pile sticks at his feet
a billow of smoke

   he is more attractive this way. 

Martyrs get a pass—
sin hard right up to the last minute
spent repenting
but the teacher is not convinced
there will be reconciliation in my case
   Puberty comes along
   One gets distracted

I draw a lady—
her breasts are
bigger than Agatha’s—

fishnet stockings, pirate rags
stiletto boots

   trying for slutty

   get sent to principal 

My body is a temple or else
it’s what my mind is riding
a bad animal 
   bit in its teeth
      not looking just running
 when I hold on hard it thinks I mean
         go faster and it does

God, I hurt my knee; here
do you want to lick it or what?