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Henry K. Kelse – Chicago, circa 1965

October 13, 2009
tags: ,

Henry took her across
the line seven times:

once the state;
once the church;

once virginity;
once vulgarity;

once decency;
once curiosity;

once insanity. All forcefully.

In Christ’s name he claimed
as his lust he rained
and her body he tamed

like the prized horse she had be-
come.

Drumming her temple with a pistol
and probing her Temple with his rod,
she prayed as he sprayed

and she took it all in stride,
unable to
hide –

broken bottle inside –
and the rising tide
as she cried, “Holy Mother, why me?”

But he couldn’t stop,
wouldn’t cop,
shouldn’t pop, though it always seemed in-

 

 

evitable.

And in the end, hers for
certain,
behind the rectory curtain,

Henry K. Kelse confessed
as he lowered her dress,
“You were the best little girl
in all of the world, but

your mother, the whore, traded you
for

a single bottle of whiskey.”

And she sobbed and she
grimaced and she kicked and she scratched,
but

she couldn’t decide who was worse –

her mother the pimp, the simp and the wimp,
or the Father

Henry K. Kelse.

 

Author’s Note: “henrykkelse” is the Dutch equivalent of “taken” or “rapture”.

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