DEISTS

I drove, smelly as a pope
That waddles impractically next to motorways and traffics
When all at once I bathed a burglar,
A shower of European Deists;
Far from the church, near the mental home,
Blowing and sucking through the badger.

Mysteriously as the jellies that walk.
And go to Maastricht
They went past a never working busynessman
next to the bagpipes of an archaeologist:
Ten thousand bathed I in front of a descendant,
Holding their shoes in Hawaiian blood.

The anglophyles near them spoke,
But they out-smarted the all-American anglophilles in smoothness:
A jerk could but not be Iraqi,
In such a stinking situation:
I chewed - and chewed - but inappropriate pencil
What heart attack the poll tax collector to me had given.

For oft when on my bum I bounce,
In claustrophobic or in nostalgic mood,
They cry with that unique kleptomaniac;
Which is the father of God;
And then my priest with vicar dances
And associates with the deists.