Tuesday, November 15, 2005

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 seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat – and at night,
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.

By Sharon Olds


2 comments:

Graham Jones said...

Memories..

Gilbert Koh said...

I like Sharon Olds - she's one of my favourite poets.