Dressed up, sealed in, the world excluded, Princes of the Church, secluded; I suppose they sit in chapel arguing who's fit to grapple with corruption, who can handle uppity women, priestly scandal; but God knows how they'll really pick a Pope to follow Benedict. Spin the chalice, pass the dalmatic musical statues, hunt the relic, pin the tail on the priceless fresco, all-in combat roller-disco? Or maybe they'll decide it's better to go for the chap with the biggest biretta. Eventually, they'll pick some bloke and never let on what they smoke.
© Gwen Seabourne
Legal historian and casual poet, Gwen has had work in various magazines and collections, and on BBC R4's Poetry Please.
Dr G.C. Seabourne, Senior Lecturer, School of Law, University of Bristol. G.C.Seabourne@bristol.ac.uk