top of page

Oh no, I shagged a proddy

Giotto, Judgement Day


If you wanted a song to listen to, for the vibes. SPEED LIMIT 60 BUT WE GO 69.


I never thought I would encounter a protestant in the flesh (and enjoy it too). In December I rolled over in my bed and saw James lying peacefully on his back. You're a catholic, aren't you? That is not a question I ever would have thought of answering first thing in the morning. My "faith" was being put on the spot like never before. We had committed a sin that neither God nor Glasgow could ever forgive.


This poem belongs to my series of love letters to the UK, this unlawful, unfaithful, shameful, unruly bastard of a country and its bloody, senseless religious divisions. I am an atheist now and even when I was Catholic I wouldn't have cared what god your blood belongs to. However, since I moved to Glasgow where sectarianism (the division between Catholics and Proddies) gets quite bloody, I knew I had committed a crime and cast a shadow on my soul. Could God ever forgive me? Could Glasgow ever forgive me? Could I ever go and see a Celtics game ever again? I guess this will just have to remain my dirty proddy sin.


However, I've come to realise that I might have stumbled upon one of sectarianism's most spicy secrets.

Just a few days ago I was walking through the park and tuned in to a shouting match on the playground. A man in his 30s was yelling at a woman a few feet away: ye shag weeans, ye proddy cunt.

She proceeded to yell back at him: cum fight me ye prick.

30 minutes later they were tangled up in each other snogging forcefully on a bench. Awe, love is just too complex for it to have limits. And if it does, breaking them makes it more fun.


Here is On no, I shagged a proddy. An ironic poem about god sex and sin.


Oh no, I shagged a proddy


Oh God, forgive me for I have sinned,

Unwillingly I let my guard down,

I let the devil in.

No brother of Pope Francis

I found him on a bar stool,

he studied English Litt.

What you doin' this Saturday darlin'?

I was busy quite a bit.

What you doin' in two weeks?

I know I let the devil in.


Follower of Henry the Eight,

the fuck boy of the church,

you smother me with your weight,

we were enemies since birth.

Yes, I ate the body of Christ,

and now yours as well.

When you opened me up

so did the gates of hell.

Saint Ambroise forgive me.

Against heaven I rebelled

For the pleasure I felt

for one bloody night

He sneaked into my bed,

this fuckin proddy parasite.


I have had other Gods

and sometimes none at all;

Jesus' name I've said in vain

when my laptop got soaked,

in the goddamn rain.

I dishonoured my father,

insulted my mother.

I have desired the partners of others,

their sisters and their brothers.

I missed out on prayer, on Sunday mass.

You should fuckin hope I don't murder.

I've lied. Cursed. Stolen.

I am our lord and saviour's burden.


But nothing I've done comes close to this,

the sin of bloody blue eyes, our inter-religious bliss.

Sweet Jesus forgive me. I let the devil in.

And it was worth it, going to hell for a kiss.


May 2024











38 views

Comments


bottom of page