Meg Kearney
She came to sex as she'd come to gin. Five
years in the convent, what did she know
about gin? Sister Emmanuel said the Devil
himself was suckled on it, and after her
third drink in the Red Kilt she knew he was
inside her like a crazed Wizard of Oz,
pushing and pumping her levers and gears.
Each time she brought the glass to her lips,
Sister's voice whispered, "You couldn't
lift one finger, not one pinky of one hand
if not for the Love of God." But she was
twenty-five and didn't know anything about
love. She knew she wasn't holy, or chaste, or
even sorry. And she knew she was alone when
the man called her beautiful, when the gin
said Baby, relax, enjoy it while you can.
