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the pope was there
he was blue eye gold miter he
stood at a cheap plywood pulpit pointing
politician screaming god is male
i am unwoman and current ticket-holder
one way to the furnace

i ran up and kicked the plywood
stand to the right tore off
the big hat (he seemed so much
smaller then, less than
an atom, not even the nucleus, maybe
the slightest valence) i pointed my
index in his face i flexed
arm muscles ribbed from lifting
cafeteria shipments

            he shivered blue eye
to my knees his head and i said
here is your nurturer here is
your bluefaced veil virgin
here is your bearer of god but not god

            god's vatican face crumbled.
he was buried in a budget coffin with
a canvas lining closed-lid vigil because even
the mortician could not make him
palatable. i was acquitted. the judge
wrote justifiable homicide self-preservation
from beneath her black robes

- Jenne Micale