The Lord’s Prior

Step father, who art in Hebburn, Harold be thy name. Thy kebab’s come in plastic tubs with cheesy chips and gravy. Heat up two-day-old pitta bread and forgive us our spills, as we forgive those times you spilt chips against us. Leave us not like our first dad. For thine is our mother, the good chair, and telly remote. Forever, or til death, or a better dad, amen.


Read The Lord’s Prior and other nonsense on The Prose:
https://theprose.com/post/160935