Earlier today the pandemic killed the print edition of Playboy. Chief executive officer Ben Kohn announced that its spring issue will be “our final printed publication for the year in the U.S.” Vulture guesses the print product will probably shutter for good. There but for the grace of God (and your donations!!) goes the Stranger.
Though I’m sure Popes only ever read the magazine for the articles, this boner-killing news reminded me of Sharon Olds’s poem, “The Pope’s Penis,” which can be found in her 1987 book, The Gold Cell, available at local bookstores.
Just one thing to note:
• The images and metaphors are so good and funny and surprising here that you can forget the music, which is doing so much work. Olds front-loads the poem with a bunch of close vowel sounds, but then ends it with that big open “o” sound in “God.” It’s like she’s closing the poem by hitting a gong.
• Find me a poem that mixes the sacred and profane—the way Playboy would mix great works of journalism with great works of God—better than this one.
