When we were kids we learned to fear
The Irish priests we should hold dear.
And Irish nuns scared us as well
With their constant threats of hell.
But those fears disappeared faster
When we got a different kind of pastor.
The bishop said that we were blessed,
Our Indian priest was the very best.
As we got to know the priest
He invited each to share a feast.
At home he'd never learned to cook
Now tried new recipes from the book.
His theory was - if you're not sure
Go ahead and add some more.
When he wasn't certain of the taste
He'd put in a bit more chilli paste.
I didn't know what lay before me
When he invited me to tea.
I told him, Yes, I love all food
And the dinner sure smells good.
He piled my plate with rice and meat
I could almost feel the heat
My lips and throat began to swell
He'd made his curry hot as hell.
I took a gulp of water, fresh and clean
That instantly turned into steam.
I followed up with cool cucumber
And sucked on ice cubes without number.
I dropped a piece for the dog to chew
And it burned a hole right through my shoe.
The dog stayed skulking near the door
It had learned not to clean the floor.
A thousand taste buds died that night
And sinuses were cleared out right.
And, a double bonus, you might say,
My innards emptied out next day.
