My mother, with love like a chicken
Brought me to the Segovia Seminary on a she donkey.
My mother said to my father:
-Husband, give the she donkey, who will arrive first.
We march laughing
Until we reach the arches of its Aqueduct
Where, in its Plaza del Azoguejo
There were hundreds of she donkeys and asses
Accompanied by fathers, mothers, with their children
That they came to the Seminary.
While the cleaning workers
Cleaned all the dung and piss
Of these quadrupeds
As in a procession we went up Calle Real
Until we reach the entrance gate to the Seminary
That it is next to its greater Church.
A few priests, four, dressed in black cassocks
Were waiting for us at the front door
Moving their bodies and hands
As happy and rowdy
Because we came to study
Hundreds of young children
All guys.
The main priest asked us for silence
Firing fathers and mothers
Entering, we, in camp line
While the other three cures
As we passed, stroking the hair on our heads.
To my one, with a finger, brushed my lips.
-Here, in the Seminary, riot is prohibited
Said the superior father who was waiting for us
In the Assembly Hall.
I, since I was little, wondered
What could the friars and priests wear
Under the cassock.
One day when I asked my mother
She answered me:
-My son, they are beings dedicated exclusively to God.
They are celibate, chaste and pure.
-“So, mother, they don’t have a tail?”
-When you’re older, you’ll know, son.
I was burning to know
And, a day of spiritual exercises
For Easter
Without being seen
I got inside the cassock of one of them
That he did not fault.
I seemed to be inside one night
I came to unbutton some buttons
And, through a Paschal Candle
That lit up the Trades
I saw that he was naked
And that a cobweb hung from his crotch
With the one that almost tripped my face
As he pressed me against his thighs.
Good thing I was able to do some folds
With the bottom of the cassock
Escaping from him
As I did it from the skirt of the grandmother’s dress
That he too smelled of frankincense and myrrh
And a bit quite to fart.