The Pontiff’s Eyes

I was in the barber’s shop one day (there’s only one back home)
And I mentioned as he shore me that I planned a trip to Rome
And foolishly I mentioned then that all good catholics hope
To venture to the Vatican and get to meet the Pope.
“What a silly dream” he sniggered. “has religion turned your head?
Go to mass on Sunday morning here and save yourself the bread
There’ll be fifty thousand pilgrims breathing garlic in your ear
And a figure on a balcony you’ll never get to hear...
You’ve been struck with mob hysteria, it’s really made you blind
The rattle of the rosary has eaten out your mind!
You’ll strut around the pubs back home and every day you’ll skite
How you saw some dim Italian and you thought his coat was white.”

Well he nicked me with the razor, and he would have whinged some more
But I pushed his money at him and I bolted out the door
And, in spite of what he told me, and however strange it looked
I reckoned I would go to Rome - I had the ticket booked
So I went. And I enjoyed myself... a real fantastic trip
And on return I sought the barber’s chair to risk another clip.
“Ha! here’s the great world-traveller!” he chortled with a bow
“He’s been to see the Pope, you know... he’s much more righteous now!
How did you find his eminence? Come on, don’t leave us guessing...
Tell all your wretched barmates how you earned the papal blessing!”

So I said “It might sound boastful and a trifle trite to you
But I went to see the Vatican, and I met the pontiff, too
I know it sounds unlikely, but he saw me standing there
Me! Of all the thousands packed into St Peter’s square!
And his piercing eyes dwelt on me, I couldn’t turn away
While he spread his holy benison and murmured “Let us pray...”
Well, we said our pater nostras and the crowd began to rise
When again I felt the focus of the holy pontiff’s eyes
And I stiffened to attention... if I started to relax
That fiery gaze burnt into me and stopped me in my tracks!

The crowd before me parted like the billows of the sea
And I realised his holiness was walking straight to me!
He checked his progress now and then, some sinner to embrace
But his point of concentration never shifted from my face.
I sank upon the cobblestones... my breath began to wheeze
A little pool of water formed around my quaking knees...
This is no idle fantasy... ten thousand people saw me...
The holy prince of christendom came down and stood before me!
And he placed his hands upon my head and said (I kid you not)
“What a rotten bloody haircut... that barber should be shot!”

Copyright; Charlee Marshall
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