BUY ME A FEW
BERNINI COLUMNS
Not for nothing, but where did you
buy that shirt with the nice bumps
in it? I sought one far and wide for
my future ex-wife when I had her.
Now all else is drained except for
longing, and I've turned cross and
old. When I was a kid my parents
would let me stay up, on Christmas
Eve, to watch the Pope's mass at
midnight, on TV. St. Peter's Basilica,
or whatever those crazy Romans
called that religious edifice. All
those twisted columns, architecture
by Bernini. I couldn't have cared
less about the groveling Pope, but
the building always knocked me
out. One year I remember I took
all the booze in my father's cabinet -
normally reserved for Christmas
and New Year's parties anyway -
and I mixed them all together, all
night. Everyone else was busy
eating and chomping away. By
11pm, I was shot-to-hell in a
cannon. Even the Pope at his
Midnight Mass looked like
liquid to me. And the those
Bernini columns began to
dance; moving about like
myriad angels on the
heads of their pins!
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