A guest poem, half-serious, half-joking from a friend we’ll call “POB.”
I thought that I was married to you,
But I got a case of the annulment blues.
And even Francis decided to disparage
The vast majority of Catholic marriage.
I thought that you were the cutest dame,
Then they told me I had toxic shame.
They said it was clearly evident
That I never formed true consent.
I said “I do,” and I started kissing.
Then they said that my discretion was missing.
And I asked the tribunal for its intercession,
But they said, “Boy, you lack due discretion.”
My daddy drank and my mom would chew,
And so I can’t be married to you.
And nothing at all now at this junction’ll
Make my family less dysfunctional.
My mom and dad, I’ll have to phone’em
And say we lacked coniugium bonum.
The marriage tribunal had the audacity
To say I had relative incapacity.
Wed any other, yes; but contrary,
You’re the only girl I couldn’t marry.
We missed having a communion of life,
And as a result, you’re not my wife.
I’m going to church and tell our pastor
That we’re the parents of seven bastards.
So let’s shack up and live in sin,
‘Cause Francis says then we’ll be “in.”
Thirty years of fornicating
Is the same as sacramental mating.
At least according to that guy Francis.
Let’s listen to him and not take chances.
—POB