Poem 1 – At The Gate

Inspired by this knackered St. Peter outside the Uffizi in Florence

AT THE GATE

I’m arriving at the pearly gate, I think too early, not too late

I’ve learned from Granny hanging round

Does not endear you to the crowd

I laugh out loud as I first see

St Peter, he of Galilee

“You’re such a stereotypical myth!”

He looks hurt:

“Don’t take the pith!”

A saint with a sense of humour….?

Or maybe he just lisps?

He swoops his arms angelically

And eats a bag of crisps

“Path on, Margaret Mary, path on, path on!”

I know the sweetie wants me gone

“I want to ask you something first”

He blows the bag and makes it burst

“Are you on duty night and day?”

“Motht of the time, not Thaterday”

“Who’s on duty when you’re gone?”

“Buggared if I know, maybe Thaint John”

“What d’you do on your day off?”

“Just hang around under the croth”

“What do I do now?” I ask

“Take my crithp bag and my flask”

He hands them to me, moves me on

The queue behind me’s growing long

I search for a bin for heavenly waste

But certain truths must be faced

There aint one: it’s the same on earth

I let out an unholy curth.

" I've got one for you."

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