The Deacon's wife was a bit desirish And liked her sex relations wild So she lay with one of the shanty Irish And he begot the Deacon's child. The Deacon himself was a man of money And upright life and a bosom shirt; Which made her infidelity funny And gave her pleasure in doing him dirt. And yet for all her romantic sneakin' Out the back door and over the wall How was she sure the child of the Deacon Wasn't the Deacon's after all? Don't question a story of high eugenics. She lived with the Deacon and bedded with him But she no doubt restricted his calesthenics To the sterile arc of her lunar rhythm. And she only had to reverse the trick And let the Irishman turn her turtle When by his faith as a Catholic A woman was almost sure to be fertile. Her portrait hangs in the family gallery And a family of nobodies likes to think That their descent from such a caloric Accounts for their genius and love of drink. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOUSE WITH THE MARBLE STEPS by AMY LOWELL READY TO KILL by CARL SANDBURG SNOWBOUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER NATHAHNI AND SOYAZHE by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS ELEGY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LOST BUT FOUND by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR WORDS ARE NEVER ENOUGH by CHARLES TORY BRUCE |