Remembering the '90s
Remembering how every day
I'd stop at the Hebrew National hot-dog cart
that sat in Back Bay Station.
Dollar fifty per? Or was it two bucks?
Always with mustard.
Remembering St Francis Chapel
and handsome, youthful Fr Tom
my newly-ordained confessor.
I deemed him a human monstrance,
showing forth the splendour of Christ.
Remembering Joe T,
the old Boston politician,
three times a candidate for mayor,
three times not quite making it,
who led a bunch of chapelgoers in the rosary
at 4.45 pm each weekday.
Remembering how I used my old religion
to try to fend off misery of soul,
to try to mute my toxic bigotries,
to try to manage sexuality,
and how it didn't work.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Written on 2024-06-28 at 08:24
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