I went to a cute little poetry circle last night and 2 poems really tickled my fancy
The Pope's Penis
Sharon Olds
It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at night,
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise
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