The Missionary position

Spoiler alert: the odd lightweight swear word
Invitation: Practice your best Robert de Niro “New Yawk” accent…. 


Frank Miller, pleased to meet’cha. I’m a New Yawker, born and bred, and am currently in da unfortunate position of being on da run from da Colombian Medellín cartel. And if those sons-of-bitches ever catch me, they’ll batter this small-fry gangster til he’s fish paste. 

When all your birthdays come at once
So, excuse me for panickin’ when da beefcake at da Colombian boarder starts pokin’ at me with questions, questions, questions. ‘Where are ya goin’? What are ya doin’? Who are ya, even? 

To this day I don’t know why, oh why, I said  ‘hey!  back-awf beefcake........I’m a Mission-nary!’ And da beefcake turned into a pussycat, just like dat! He had some story ‘bout his ‘Aunt going to college because’a da mission-naries’,  and dat  ‘we’re good people’, yada yada yada. Man, I didn’t know what tah do, so I made da sign of da cross in fronts of his face, mumblin’ some crazy shit, an’ he lit up like a kid blowin’ out his birthday candles. And, he insisted, I say in-SIS-ted, his beefcake partner escort me on ma way, coz, ‘there’s a lot a bad guys out there’. Man, I wanted tah laugh. Anyways, I followed da beefcake, feelin’ like all ma birthdays had come at once.

And here I am, a free man. Well almost, I’s got different responsibilities now-a-dayz, coz I’m da first ever Padre of da Witoto people! I have to tell yas, dis is not how I saw ma career progressing! I mean, what I know about Christi-yanity could be written on da back of a rolled-up 50 peso note dat just took me on a stairway to heaven, if ya gets ma snow-drift! 

How to be a padre
I haves to say, it’s all pretty straight forward here. I’s got three major challenges every day and dats it! 1. Finding me a quiet place to take a shit without some kid moonin’ at me (I still take ma gun wit me - dat usually does it.) 2. Writin’ a sermon dat sounds somethin’ like somethin’ dat God might’a said (they don’t understand a word but they love it, and I swear to God, they love me!) 3. Finding ways I can get up close to ‘her.’ (yeah, dats right, you heard! You should see ‘her’, she’s beeeau-diful. I may be safe here man, but jeeeeze, ma balls are aching.)

I likes it best when sunset comes around. Ev’ryone hotfoots it back from a day’s ripening out in da fields, exhausted but all chatty-like, turnin’ da ‘unassumin quietude’ into rush-hour, like on Madison an’ Fifth Avenue. The sun’s about to drop outta da sky like a scoop of vanilla gellato off a hot spoon, and all da animals make like they’re tuckin each other up in bed, straight outta ‘little house on da prairie’… ‘g’night Jimbob.’ No-one here’s gonna get dat joke. I don’t mind tellin yas, it can get pretty lonesome.

Then, bein’ a good padre, I do ma door-to-door service, seein’ if anyone’s got anytin they wanna confess before they say they’re prayers. But when I get to ‘her’ hut, I get all kinda crazy feelins in ma belly and ma heart starts thumpin like a stallion at da races. It’s da only time I really gets to see her by herself. She got hands, strong and slender, like she could dig up potatoes an’ play da pianio. Her eyes, so bright and kind, I wanna tell her things; things I aint never told no-one. And her skin, it’s da colour of cawffee, just how I like it, darhk and milky. Boy, would I like to touch dat skin of hers. Just lookin’ at her sends arrows straight tru me - cupid’s got me by da short an curlies alright. 

The power of prayer
Every night, I takes myself back home, to ma hut dat is, and swing in ma hammock, thinking of ‘her’ til I drop-off like a baby on da titty, hopin’ she’s gonna show up in ma dreams, coz dats as close as I can get. But dats ok. I’m a free man and I’m grateful for dat alone. I even put her in ma prayers; hey, listen to me; prayers! Well, I gots no-one else to talk tah…

And, it was dat dat turned me. Honest to God. It was da praying thing dat turned me. Because, ma prayers came true. Confession time became a bit like courting. She warmed to ma peculiarities an’ started smilin’ smiles dat told me a whole lotta tings. And, what can I tell yas, love blossomed; like da cherry trees in Central Parhk.

And now I love when da dawn breaks. Da moment I wake up an’ she’s there, da sunlight startin to warm-up ma cawffee-coloured girl. I’m telling yas, I aint no poet but I love watchin’ da sun creep over her body, like a veil slowly revealin’ a sleeping, golden goddess. Watchin’ patterns of soft light dancin a happy-dance on her rich, earthy skin. Feelin’ da warmth of da sun wake-up ma love of all tings an’ fill our small, wooden room with a butter-coloured glow. It’s like bein’ in heaven, wit an angel. The good Lord, he sure does move in mysterious ways….




head on ova to @Bethkempton and her @Soulcircle if ya what's good for yas! She a beau-dy and will grease-up ya writin' chops good-n-proper, if ya axs her nicely...