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.