The Runaway

A runaway,
Petite and cute,
Earned money
As a prostitute,

Working (said
Police reports)
In silver top
And leather shorts.

One night, she met
A man quite late
And asked him, “Honey,
Want a date?”

He said, “No, if
It’s all the same.
I’m not the kind
That plays that game.”

“Come on. I’m worth it,”
Said the sprite.
“My tongue is soft.
My pussy’s tight.”

“I’m very sexy,
Can’t you see?”
The man replied,
“It’s not for me.”

The girl said,
“No man can resist,
Unless he’s gay.
This gets me pissed.”

“Not gay,” he said,
“Nor even odd.
The truth is,
I’m a man of God.

“I’ve come tonight
To set you free.
Leave this life
And follow me.”

She agreed
And, none too wary,
Went with him
To the sanctuary,

Where he gave her
Food to eat,
Rubbed some chrism
On her feet,

And when he knelt
To pray with her,
He got to have
His way with her.

She gave it up
Without a peep,
And not a penny
Did she reap.

The shelter was
A way he had
Of doing good
While being bad,

Recruiting women
For his cult,
And always with
The same result:

Working nights
Beyond endurance,
Selling sex
And life insurance.

So hear me, children.
Listen well:
Avoid the burning
Bonds of hell.

When a reverend
Wants a bit,
It’s your duty
To submit.

Remember, too,
We never pay —
And that’s our sermon
For today.