Bob McNeil

Their King Dirt Pervert 

Moloch, the parent, 

 Loves filicide 

 And it won’t conceive remorse. 

Moloch, the teacher, 

 Chalks impure lessons 

 Across young slates. 

Moloch, the chaplain, 

 Conducts more than notes 

 In the boys’ choir. 

Moloch, the coach, 

 Wants touchdowns 

 Along preadolescent fields. 

Moloch, the puppeteer, 

 Strings then controls 

 Marionettes attending school. 

Moloch, the kidnapper, 

 Mails enslaved girls anywhere 

 Perversion puts up the postage. 

Moloch, the singer, 

 Lets auditory opiates 

 Procure puerile acolytes. 

Moloch, the comic, 

 Throws Mickey Finn rumors 

 Under sweet pudding standup jokes. 

Moloch, the dieter, 

 Sandwiches his lechery 

 Between underage escorts. 

Moloch, the felon, 

 Pours honeyed rationale atop what he 

Calls sexual boo-boos with babies. 

Moloch, the videographer, 

 Tapes untarnished chicks 

 For voyeuristic hawks. 

Moloch, the actor, 

 Lauds judicial limitations 

 In a pedophiliac soliloquy. 

Moloch, the cinephile, 

 Won’t hear an epigram revealing 

 Woody Allen’s adopted wretchedness. 

Moloch, the reader, 

 Will never see a verse 

 Howling Allen Ginsberg’s pederastic guilt. 

Moloch, the recidivist, 

 Supports NAMBLA among other 

 Atrocities in need of either 

 Depo-Provera or annihilation.