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From "Authority"

16
by George Keithley

    Behind bejeweled fingers

    they grinned, they tittered,

    to hear their friend——his cup

    filled to spilling——propose

    his toast to progress; then

    declare the Pope, "A dupe,

    a dullard, a simpleton.

    A worm. A brass-brained dolt.

    A sheep. A braying ass

    spooked by its own shadow."

    Clearly he feared no man

    now. No——not even

    pious Pope Urban

    who strangled songbirds

    in the Vatican garden

    when they disturbed him.

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