Not about priesthood so much, but perhaps some thirty-something couples who has had their parents to stay may resonate with this...
When our parents leave
we sit in silence
and watch trashy telly
and "like" photos on Facebook
and read The Guardian on our phones.
Like Spring's slow creep
clutter recolonizes our home:
an unwanted mug,
discarded shoes,
milk left out of the fridge...
Oh well.
After a while, we speak:
"That was a good visit - mainly"
"They still don't accept that we've grown"
"They are getting
slower
tireder
older..."
In defiance of these things, we make love.
Outside,
the laundered bedding
- so thoughtfully hung out by his mother -
waits forgotten on the line.
Tomorrow it will flap like bunting
Forlorn, the day after a fair.
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