the good baptist

The good Baptist

Was coming out of a shop in Roma,
I knew it was him,
Long hair and trimmed beard,
The ladies swooned
The Vogue wanted him on its cover,
he wore an Armani suit
a white silk scarf
carelessly slung around his neck.  
Scintillating angle wings quivered in warm anticipation,
will he gaze at them?
No, he had loftier things
in mind, he wasn’t going to
get seduced by beauty yet again,
hailed a taxi:
“To the Vatican,” they heard
he say, “I have an audience
with the pope.”