On Mel Gibson's
The Christian hopes for resurrection;
Mel delivers vivisection;
For all his claims of fact retrieval
His movie's truly medieval.
He doesn't just reject the Second
Vatican Council - no, he's reckoned
With yet more ancient Church traditions,
Most recently, the Inquisition's.
Oh, the prurient appeals
Of seeing tortures no one feels!
The coalitions of the willing
Are helping Mel to make a killing.
Mel's camera loves the bloody spatters,
Reaction shots, and skin in tatters;
Though flesh and bone are sliced and diced,
His camera doesn't love the Christ.
What hasn't yet occurred to Mel
Is Christ descended into Hell,
Which merely cross and flail don't equal -
But maybe Mel will make a sequel.
Slo-mo, close-up, get that shot -
Sado-masochists get hot;
Give us crucifiction's gore -
That's what Technicolor's for!
If you've any comments on
this poem, Marcus
Bales would be pleased to hear from you.