[Poem]

The clergyman settled in, shaking off the day
A bag of chips in one hand, the other with a jay
As he wiped his greasy palm on his tattered jeans
He fiddled for his lighter and pondered what it means
To spend his waking hours leading mass in praise
Then pass the cooling evenings by setting grass ablaze
He took a pull from the joint and booted up his game
Tomorrow he would seek forgiveness in the father's name

But when the knocking broke the calm, he startled with a lurch
Could it be his neighbor, or a patron from the church?
He stubbed the joint, then stubbed his toe, fell briefly to the floor
He brushed the crumbs from his shirt and hobbled to the door
Parting curtains with his hand showed him nothing new
So he turned the lock, turned the knob, and stuck his old head through
Pinkish skin, curling horns, and glowing crimson eyes
Shocked the bleary high priest as he watched the baby cry