Parochial school perfection.
Wrapped up in a purplish woolen turtleneck.
Curly salt and pepper hair.
Led by tanned opaque pantyhose and a chalked skirt.
Liberal sister preached dictatorial discipline.
She had a method, a plan.
Eyes square glossy crazy.
Fire and brimstone resided there.
Only to be outdone by the calls to her personal novena:
The voice of Karen Carpenter over and over, nine times over.
Terrible toxic turntable attempted to indoctrinate fresh minds and hearts.
The charms of the devil wrapped in 70’s pop.
Sister Barbara went into a fervor and looked a beatific bully.
If it were not for the counterweight rage that followed.
Eyes square glossy crazy,
wrapped up in the desire to expunge menial sins within children.
Textbooks tossed at Pickles Cameron.
Wooden tablet desks upended at will.
Jesus at the temple chasing away money-changers.
Succulent purpose, guided by conviction in moral right.
She was touched by the fire of the Holy Spirit.
Even now, when I hear a Carpenters song,
I look over my shoulder for a flying textbook.
However, to this day, I haven’t seen any aged women with eyes square glossy crazy.
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