Sr. Dolores

Once she was a Roger
Her brother’s name borrowed
Then given back to his kids
So confusing even hurtful
In a game of water volleyball
After the real Roger died
And this nun with the ball
Would hear the shouts
Roger, hey Roger, throw the ball
She couldn’t bear causing that hurt
But she hung my friend from
A hook in the wooden cloak room
The daughter of alcoholics
Paying for her beauty every day
Dolores never heard
That girl’s silent pleas

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s