‘Scuse me gents
He comes again
No doubt a sermon finished
No doubt His crowd of doting poor
At mid-day should be working.
His stories
Wrestle conscience
The Man seems quite unshakable
The dignity unbreakable
While priest-craft hovers lurking.
He calls me
With His gaze full fixed
And I a warmness feeling
My money-sense a-reeling
This chance I’ll not be shirking.
Note: I remember seeing paintings by Caravaggio at the National Gallery in Ottawa. What a place! A film was presented on this sad painter’s life. Gaining his skill by observation of the under-belly of Rome. Coming to the attention of the Church. Producing monumental Biblical works for the holy architecture. Stretching the envelope of Catholic orthodoxy. Falling out of favour and running an exile with a price on his head. Returning to the dark places. Gambling. Wenching. Dueling. Killing. Ultimately dying on the run, while still desperately trying to recover favour. Mercy not to be found from the Church.
