ANCILLA DOMINI

Mary, you are out of fashion,
No one bothers with you now;
Your son, protagonist of passion,
Comes downstage and takes the bow.

Standing by the Lady Statue,
Lighting candles to your name,
Directing human yearnings at you -
Such behaviour merits blame.

Why employ you for commissions
When God listens to our needs?
Let's leave to crones their superstitions
Drooling on their plastic beads,

I am modern, not neurotic,
Liberated - like my clones;
We all suspect your cult's erotic
With its Freudian overtones.

Though I'm free from such confusion
Fear still grabs me unawares;
And, while  I know it's just illusion,
Don't stop answering my prayers.

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