Rae Desmond Jones
Silvo the God
Perhaps there is such a thing as a national psyche,
Even when the world is trussed like a turkey
In satellite bands of electronic steel
But have the Italians never shifted
Their long allegiance to Caesar (every woman's man
& every man's woman) or Mussolini,
Incarnated in a tanned old rooster
Crowing while caressing the polished boot of Italy,
Parading his erection as evidence of immortality?
Silvio the God will never die while the riches
Of television & the State pile up to choke the doors
Of the courts & the throats of Judges,
He will live forever with his cloud piercing penis.
If he was a woman he would become invisible
& tough like Angela Merkel -
Not that ordinary woman who grows old
Hiding her need for warmth, who instead will plod
To the Church to perform works & pray
To that beautiful male stretched out on the cross
That he should come down to whisper
Gentle words in Latin but instead she must
Bake sweet cakes for her Grandchildren -
Become the carer of the family history (Because
Nobody desires her unless she is useful, or wealthy)
Then she becomes tight fisted & hard,
Dry as a plaster crucifix.
O great Silvio, count your riches & beware.
You may yet find yourself hanging by the heels
In the breeze beside a row of your pretty girlfriends
(First published in Mascara http://www.mascarareview.com)