Heather McHugh (20 August 1948 / San Diego, California)
No Sex for Priests
The horse in harness suffers;
he's not feeling up to snuff.
The feeler's sensate but the cook
pronounces lobsters tough.
The chain's too short: The dog's at pains
to reach a sheaf of shade. One half a squirrel's whirling there
upon the interstate. That rough around
the monkey's eye is cancer. Only God's
impervious—he's deaf and blind. But he's
not dumb: to answer for it all, his spokesmen
aren't allowed to come.
Comments about this poem (No Sex for Priests by Heather McHugh )
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