his hand hits behind the lagoon
where the bench waits for it’s master
his aunts watching the maestro swoon,
but he knows that his ideas are disaster
and infidelity is a way to crumbling cliffs
and ugly inferno’s carved in plaster.
The surrounding children are the Pontiff’s
and twisted faces make twisted graces.
His uncles virtuous on Lenten skiffs,
fasting their locations to arrive in places,
humming, together, a monetary tune
about spices and explosive vases