She stands next to the pope, almost. It is a waxen likeness, gesturing forward, never pointing, to a person, a "crowd," the future. She smiles at her boyfriend's camera-phone. She is happy to be by this false holy leader. Or perhaps you'd say a false false holy leader. In any case, she stands by him, smiling, her pick of the litter. She wonders, if the heat were up, would he melt?
No comments:
Post a Comment