A Progressive Pope

        The Pope rubbed his weary eyes. It had been a long night of twittering.
        Alex Baldwin asked for his prayers and a novena.
        A little girl wanted her daddy to get a job for Christmas, she wanted to meet
        Justin Beaver too.
        Sinead Oconnor twittered an obscene rant.
        The Pope kicked back in his lazy boy chair.
        He was almost asleep when he heard hoof beats
        in his bedroom.
        The Pope turned his chair about ...
        to behold a radiant unicorn light up his candle lit room.
        The Pope had shut off all the lights except for the Vigil Candle.
        A small lady, no bigger than a thumb, sat straddling the horn.
        She had wings like a a firefly and not a thread of clothing.
        "What is the meaning of this?" the Pope blurted.
        "I am Winkin, a Faery. And you have forgotten the meaning of Christmas!"
        Winkin declared and flew down onto the Pope's lap.
        "This is madness. I must be hallucinating." the Pope rubbed his eyes,
        but Winkin was still there.
        Here blue eyes were brilliant.
        "Hear me Vicar! The Earth is dying. You must tell your flock to stop making
        babies." Winkin put her hands on her hips and wagged her finger at the Pope.
        "This is absurd. God wants his flock to be fruitful and multiply. I must be
        losing my mind." the Pope sat back and took a sip of wine.
        The unicorn rose up and boxed his front hooves in the air.
        "Alright! I'll make the announcement at the Christmas Mass." the Pope gasped
        and gulped the bottle of wine.
        "See that you do! A little rubber can save a lot of trouble!" Winkin scolded.
        The tiny Faery flew back to the unicorns horn and vanished.
        "My God. Am I senile?" the Pope muttered and then stepped in a horse patty.
        He could see the hoof prints in the oriental rug.
        "I-I will do as you say Winkin." the Pope said on his knees.


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