On my knees in Rome

If Peter's foot is gone from the kisses
and touches of strangers, perhaps
di Cambio was a fool to believe in anything
or maybe there is meaning in these very nothings
that have accumulate over 8 centuries
like candle wax on the floor of that bascillica. 

It is best to forget, but I remember
the dinginess of that holiness,
the filth of blessings on the pilgrims
as they looked past me, over me, around
me in my dungaree shorts and "i heart rome" tshirt.

Oh, Michelangelo, she is marble & (you say)
a virgin, but this is not her at all. This is pure
stone, but not the seed of David whom God Chose.

That is the knife that even the swiss guard can not remove
from this place. God is not this sculpted stone, I think
and these people are not here for him.

I am 12, but not too young to know the spark
of life that lies in the eyes of the true
believers. I am 12, but not too young to know
that God is no more here, than there. St. Peter
your manicure is obscene, and Mary, your eyes
are foggy. Stay out of my business with the father

I tell them. And they are silent. They are all silent.