Priest And Prostitute Poem by Donal Mahoney

The old priest who won't retire
despite his bishop's hints
rides his bike around the parish
every day for exercise.
He waves and smiles at everyone
and they wave back.

But now he'll be in bed
at least three weeks because
he flew over the handlebars
and broke several ribs,
his elbow and his nose.

Everyone in the parish now is
praying for the priest except
the prostitute who sees him
riding his bike and waving
when she gets home from work.

She saw the ambulance take
the priest away and stopped
that night at the candy store and
sent him a box of fudge.
A nice old priest, she thought.
She doesn't have time to pray.