Friday, June 16, 2017

Trois


John Strong Sycamore the apologist
has a neat little beard, ten published books;
writes watertight blogs; the Pope's death is his wish.

He lights his pipe and says, between puffs,
"That sounds like socialism!" and other rebuffs.

*

The Old Men's Club, the American Deacon's Club,
the esoteric homespun Traddy Know-it-all Club,
the Butterfly Priests Club, the Latin Fantard Club,
the Thick Steak and Cigar after Latin Mass Club,
the Medievalist's Anglo-Saxon Strawberry Tea Club,
the We Can't Barely get any Readers Worth a Damn Club
so name it something convenient like the Remnant,
We Few, We Grumpy Few, or some such name Club.

I'll take my subscription elsewhere, I think.
Perhaps some Eurotrash mag where they still write poems
in a vulgar free form. At least they haven't lost their hearts.

*

Beaver the Cleaver had bad dreams
about the man in white on the Baroque facade.

"He came in with a super-soaker filled with holy water
to bomb Dearly Missed Benedict's traditional asperges
when Emeritus took the hydro gun from Bergoglio
and smashed it on the pew (which is a Protestant tainting), saying,
"Nein! Nicht!" and Bergoglio stalked out in a huff with a scowl.
I woke gasping for air and weeping soaked my pillow."

He's an uncanny type of the anti-prophet to come, perchance.
Beaver's orthodox tears spare us another year. Thanks!

2 comments:

Terry Nelson said...

We should be friends.

Paul Stilwell said...

You write about the same stuff, don't you? I agree.