5061. ST. ANDREW'S CROSS

ST. ANDREW'S CROSS

As X marks the spot, I may as well be honest :

every spot is marked by X. The writhing fellow

over there, he knows what's up. St. Andrew now,

but they'll only call him that later. Every sort of

fuming has its own stark message, the G-Spot,

the Cavalcade of Stars, even the Spotted Dick the

English eat. It's all names and forgotten meanings.

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'It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.'

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On this small place of fury  -  Patras  -  he was

martyred (so the Middle Ages say) on a cross

with rope, not nails  -  bound hand and feet until dead  -

because he 'deemed himself unworthy' to be crucified

on a cross of the same sort as his Lord, Christ.

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These familiar tales still make me laugh : we'd

have  them read to us at seminary as we dined

at dinner. The Lives of the Saints, and all the rest.

Crucifixion you say  -  emphasis on fiction, say I.

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I'm too late in life to buy these stories and tales any

longer, and I've seen behind the curtain and know from

whence they come  -  Council of This or Council of That,

the 'church' filling the void while rulers crumbled. It's

all filthy lies, and there's just nothing more to be said.
-
'It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.'