-Free translation-

And as for you, God, –– creator of Heaven and Earth and Debbie-Ann Gardener,––

I’ve traced myself back to your beginnings before that doozie of a Bang, long before

stupid Adam failed at his only chance at a piece-of-ass (that Eve, she could hang a temptation better'n Lulu) long before my baptism, longer than the distance
from the act to the act of contrition –– back before hydrogen.

I liked your story, God, but Priest's a tepid interpreter who stunk at playground basketball.

why play when you play like that? didn’t he know something was amiss

when he missed the rim by 3 feet from the free-throw line?

I hear tell of a second year Priest placed way down south, South Main Street at Saint

Anne’s Cathie they say is lights-out from thirty feet!

I was there at your birth, God. I was there when we were committed to killing you.

you said:

"et tu? William, Gerry, Bobby, and Russell.
et tu? Cynthia, Allen, Tommy, Louie, Shirley and Henry.
et tu? Betsy, Susan, Jeanie and Nancy!
et tu? Debbie-Ann Gardner and all the angels and saints"!–– no,

Priest killed you, God.

something chosen over your church on early Sunday mornings

and it wasn't a Time magazine cover, God.

‘twas the short-order cook , the slick-
handed grill-man at Sammy's Diner on Pleasant Street,

long gone and unrepentant, killed you.–– Basta!

'twas the new Sunday morning call; the blotting stain of Priest,
an execution by the oily crackle of a busy fryolator,–– by eggs

over easy, over sausage links and hash-brown potatoes killed you,–– hung
by the withered hand by dawn's early light until you were dead! Basta!