In light of current affairs, I would like to share a wonderful poem by Sharon Olds. I promise you that His Holy Father would love it.
The Pope’s Penis
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 sweaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat — and at night
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.
Sharon Olds
I hope he had the opportunity to read it.
I personally use this particular poem as a way to judge if someone understands that God in all of His majesty does not have a glass jaw — or not.
Very important information before trying to launch into conversation.
