The streamers were so colourful <br />Balloons and posters too <br />A buffet tea of fine repast <br />Prepared for twenty-two <br /> <br />To see again each childhood friend <br />This well planned school reunion <br />To reminisce on that and this <br />And their mischievious unholy communions <br /> <br />The girls from Notre Dame it seemed <br />The nuns had taught them well <br />Unless you peeked beneath the pews <br />For what tales they could tell <br /> <br />Good Catholic ladies now were they? <br />With angel wings to soar on? <br />The question begs from between their legs, <br />Is “Good Catholic” an oxymoron? <br /> <br />For as the party time arrived <br />Not one came to the door <br />And Bernadette stood by the mirror <br />Staring at she, whom some called whore. <br /> <br />They would have come if they had known <br />They had long since forgiven her game <br />But not a one knew who the invite was from <br />As she used her twelfth husband’s surname.<br /><br />Reece Kaye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-s-my-chapatti-and-i-ll-cry-if-i-want-to/
