Monks, possessed in all probability
of angular backsides, were permitted
to rest tired frames on misericords
where carvers seized their chance to decorate
what would lie hidden beneath behinds.
And now, to stop us eroding them
with prying fingers tracing wyverns,
protectors keep us at bay with ropes.
And only the persistent get to get
a good look at these eloquent records,
telling arrays of fables and foibles.
Lurking near Hell-mouths are dodgers, wrestlers,
coursers, drunken alewives. The quick sly fox
snatches geese or pauses long enough
to preach at them. Such gullible gawpers.
Is it best if we don’t see how others,
congregating, have been taken in here?