The Coffee Was Bitter

He was barbaric, he was slow,

His slaughter was the result

Of the machinations of gods.

Those very gods

Of whom he stood in awe,

Truth and loyalty,

Such ugly words

In the beautiful poetry

Of scriptures.

Good triumphs over evil,

And wins the damsel,

As in a TV game show,

The anchor is orgasmic,

The audience dutifully claps,

In the studio.

And then there is the detergent

That washes incredibly white,

Followed by sanitary napkins

With odor prevention,

While my dog is maddened

By the odor,

Of my bitch in heat.

Cervantes slays the dragon

Guarding the Cape of Storms,

Makes passage for Vasco da Gama

Around the Cape of Good Hope.

All in the name of the mysterious Jew

Crucified between commercial breaks,

The robust Pole's passage to heaven

Is televised with global weather.

This will be a century of bloodshed.

The Pope is dead,

Long live the Pope.