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Poetry by Pamela Fuller



Invocation/First Generation Bush



Mary had a little problem

she didn’t do well in malls.

There weren’t any lambs.

She smelled like dung and straw

and the Revlon representative refused

to make her over.


Poor Mary, Mother of God

bless all the shoppers,

forgive them

for they know not

what whores they all are.


So Mary tried politics.

She gathered Swiss bank accounts.

She gathered manuals

on the joy of extortion,

She pimped,

She took steroids,

She pounded her opponents.

It was good.


She mounted the platform

And spake unto the thousands,

“Go ye unto the hills of Kilamanjaro

and seek your own dung

and lambs and straw,

so that you might do

as I have done.”


It has been recorded in the dead water buffalo scrolls that Mary was not successful. The multitudes that showed up that day turned out to be anti-body odor freaks, thereby given to stoning poor Mary and thusly she was given bad press.

In her research for government office, the librarian directed her to b for bathing. Mary never got past the a’s, stopped at asphyxiate to learn of a far off city Lost Tangelos.

“Anything to get away,” she thought. Gently she placed her lamb on a straw bed of the sidecar, revved her gears and vowed again to make sure her loincloth was clean, in case she had an accident.




As long as you don’t marry

into the family,



She had no thought of marriage,

only that she could rest

without disturbance

on her straw bed.


But, Jesus was born

and then all the kings came to hang out,

rude shepherds stared at her,

bells started to chime,

cows went berserk

and the press showed up

(if it weren’t for that star

they never would have found the place).

What’s a woman who comes from a fairy tale to do?


She passed gas and afterbirth.

It wasn’t cool,

but it worked.

Everyone headed for the desert.


Mary sat back,

poured some wine, lit up a camel

and played the harp.

Jesus was sleeping.

With the dawn,

Mary turned in.

She loved straw.




Mary was not contrary.

Her cocquel shells were not in a row

And generally things sucked.


She went to visit Peter, but eating

pumpkin turned out to be a real bore,

never mind putting up with his wife.


She wasn’t into rhymes.

She wasn’t into washing on Monday.

She didn’t aspire to jump over the moon.

People kept asking her how her garden

was coming along and they all knew

she was lousy with plants.


Mary was not contrary.

She just didn’t want to get into

this verse thing some

patriarch on drugs had stuck her with.


And now Bush was in charge.

She felt strongly that it was most unfair,

considering she didn’t have to even get done

to get pregnant,

that if she became with child

she couldn’t choose to not be the holy mother again,

she might end up with another Jesus,

all hell would break loose in the Middle East,

the pontiff might shoot himself

and she would have the press on her neck again.


They keep getting me mixed up with this other woman.

I like to drink, smoke, and play my music.

I don’t need any sandle-footed, religious hippies

to groove with on some looser desert outside Jerusalem.


But, there she was,

not contrary to what’s been going down for thousands of years.

And don’t count on Jack in the Beanstalk either lady.

He’s still going to be in charge of the Golden Egg,

unless you get off your own and do something about it.




Mary pulled her motorcycle

up next to the black oldsmobile.

The three kings were here today,

probably still trying to figure out

how they lost their deity,

mulching through eternity,

hanging at Carmen’s bar and grill.


All Mary wanted was a greasy hamburger

and fries.

She didn’t need any lecture on the black book

that was welded to the king’s bodies.

Jesus God, they were ugly.

A lot of balls they had telling her

all the time,

she was with odor.


“Hi Carmen.”

She sat at the counter so she could

twirl on the stools.

“What’ll it be Mary?”

“The regular, heavy on the catsup today.”


She knew they were looking at her,

probably had some complaint

about her appearance,

well, piss,

it was hot in the desert

and all she felt like wearing this morning

was a loincloth.

Their fat tits were always

hanging out,

She sported a fine pair of jugs,

Give it up guys.


She started to whirl on the bar room stool

and as she whirled

her breasts began to grow.


Ho, ho Pinocchio,

you don’t have to lie

to make it grow.

She whirled with great joy.

As she recalled the incident later,

all she could figure was

the kings didn’t like her new perfume

and decided to vacate,

much to their ensuing disaster for as they passed

the Counter of Bar Stool Whirling,

Mary’s engorged breasts

knocked each one of them

right to the floor.

It appeared they would not be

getting up

for some time.


“Hey Carmen, you want to take these

starlets out of here?”

Carmen motioned to Slab

the Oasis strong arm and presently

the three kings lay in the back seat

of the black olds.

Some caravan.


Mary ate.

Carmen put on a snappy baroque opera,

and prepared pasta,

for the evening crowd.