You know the sort. They’re usually called
Fair weather friends. They’re righteous and they’re good
And generous even—if things don’t get balled
Up. Each one stores his satin, high-peaked hood
Beneath his folded underpants. They give
Right hands of fellowship and say amen
When you speak up in Sunday School. They live
Their lives of silk-like charity, but when
You don’t really need them. Make a mistake,
Though, say . . . commit an unbrotherly crime,
And they leave you in jail to slowly bake
For a very, very, very long time.
He’s as loving as a Christian lizard.
At night he’s an Imperial Wizard.
“with the coward angels” Dante, Inferno, Canto III, line 37
