
“Lost Keys”
St. Peter walks into a bar… a poem
In a little pub outside Exeter Cathedral
St. Peter lost his keys
They were just here,
he said.
Right here, on the bar, and by this glass
(Oh, man. I am in so much trouble.)
He (by which I mean we) got down
to hands and knees, to search among the stools,
the chairs and cigarette butts.
What did they look like?
He peered at me (down there),
shook his head, then reached a gnarled old hand
behind the radiator
What did they look like?
mocking me, St. Peter was
They look like gate keys, you idjit
but, he paused
St Peter done scowled, and sighed,
then stood up and patted his robe
But bigger, you know, and pearly-like.
he paused a’more
frowned, then said
and they glow… a little. Just a little.
Ah,
says I
And shut off the lights.
And we looked and found them
hanging from a peg
next to his halo.
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