Because St. Brigid won't stop pestering him
Jerome sometimes cleans himself up
Trims his beard, cuts his hair, puts on
A three-piece suit and the red hat
That marks him as a cardinal
His long, clever fingers fly
Doing street magic
But never
Miracles.
Finally
Brigid relents
He folds up his table
And, though he knows
It'll return to him, throws his hat
Through the window of a passing car
(In the old days having become a cardinal
Was not a thing you could leave behind you).
No comments:
Post a Comment