If all poems were limericks:
“The Pope’s Penis” by Sharon Olds
It hangs in his vestments so well
like a clapper inside of a bell.
It goes where he guides,
and at night, like the tides,
it stands up in praise, which is swell.
Read the original here.
Happy 78th birthday to Sharon Olds!
[Note that the choice of material for today’s post has nothing to do with this recent news story.]
