The first of my umbrages is how utterly
      humdrum eternity seems.
There is, of course, the pomp of angels

       one might expect
in a papal commission. In the center
      space of golden aureoles

and just above an alabaster Christ (who
      looks more than a bit like
Raphael himself) displaying his nail-punched

       palms, reigns this very old,
unenthused Father-God figure as if crowned
      with a nimbused mortar board,

holding his globe in one hand while gesturing
      blessings with the other.

A Mississippi poet takes umbrage with a Renaissance master.