Sister Twisted OSU is marching down
North Avenue in her blue skirted suit
and military issue boobs, simple black purse
and orthopedic shoes.

So proud of her brisk stride to the convent
where she rooms with the crucified
Christ who watches every move.

By day a school teacher where she serves
our Lord and Savior, finding joy in math
equations and terrorizing children with
a devilish predilection for the vulnerable
and disabled.

Years later when the school’s red doors
are closed forever, we sit and remember
all the shit that Twisted did. At the reunion
cocktail hour, by the bar at Juliano’s,
one hisses

through his teeth, If she were here
I’d fucking kill her and we can tell
by his demeanor he’d do it slow
and make it painful.

We grow silent for a minute and stare
into our drinks and think about Katrina
who wore a back brace and bore the brunt
of Sister Vicious more than any of us did.

The obituary says that Sister Wicked
is long dead, died peacefully in her sleep
in the Bronx at Calvary. This makes
me wonder who came to fetch

her at the edge of her deathbed-
Was it merciful Sister Ursula
or patient Lucifer to collect
a debt?

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