Poem: "The Pope and Mr. Murdoch"

Others say the pope should quit

to a monastery

to live out the rest of his days,

but I say look at the gnarled hands that scoop up soup on

a Saturday afternoon at the old folks home,

insistent on doing it himself, murdoch says,

dribble of reason coagulates on the tip of his chin

and the pope rolls on like murdoch,

both stubborn in their resolve,

clutching oversize spoons,

suffering from influenza

and doesn’t he look beautiful

sitting alone during bingo,

munching on fried rice

that I had brought him

despite the MSG −

once a six pack −

and now he asks the orderly for a Splenda,

which he brings −

he tears open the package himself,

as if following a medieval rubric,

gingerly pouring the contents into his mug that reads:

what do you get when you work like a mule?

O L D 

stenciled across the porcelain

in a marker felt type.

Download an Image File of the Post Here

 

© 2005 Greig Roselli