Jan Hansen Poet Prose Poetry

The Pontiff and I

The pontiff and I

Finally, the pope left, I saw him leave in a helicopter, dressed
in fetching white, his bishops wore black dresses with red stripes like the Norwegian Gestapo wore during the war.
They say 1.5 million people came to his venues, where did 
pilgrims go for a pee?
It has been hot today, the sun knowing it has nothing to lose
shines with the utmost brutality not taking any prisoner.
Bodies under the trees, in the avenue, neglected old people dying in their beds, their broods, have gone to the beach
The heat makes people egocentric.
The pope said, when in a lyrical mood “he is a surfer riding on a wave of love.” Not bad for an old man about my age.
The vicar of Christ doesn't worry about breakfast tomorrow
still, I think it is a hard life living in a golden fish bowl.

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