My small Tuscan hamlet
the Christmas Eve
My owner walks to the might mass
I sniff
Every stone every tree and pine cone
All over the smells
from holiday cooking
are totally divine
We enter the church
My mistress crosses herself
From the water bowl
Always meant to ask
Why the fountain was so high
When really it should be
a dog's water dish
I lie down but the priest
starts to preach
mumbles and squeaks
his voice is droning
I start to close my eyes
But about half an hour
Into the performance
The holy man starts to give
Out wafers during
The Eucharist
About twenty souls to get
The month old dried round
Tough dull biscuit
Alas I was the only one who
Did not receive the hardtack
And would have liked it
Sniffing I look pleadingly
At mistress Giovanna
when she sits down
She mumbles something
About her teeth and slowly
brings out half of a gnawed cracker
and on the sly drops it
motioning me to not get excited
praised be St Francis
(Inspired by David Zee's story)
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