Feast of St. Francis
St. Francis at the Corner PubApproaching the door, you can alreadyhear his generous laughter.He stands on the bar upside down for a momentto get a new perspective on things,a flash of polka-dotted boxersas his brown robe cascades over his head,sandaled toes wiggling in the air in time with a fiddle playing in the corner.Rain falls heavily in the deepening darknessand he orders a round of drinksdespite his vow of poverty and the single silver coinsin his pocket, multiplied by the last Guinness poured.Nothing like a good glass of wine, he gleefully says,heavy Italian accent echoing through the room,he holds it up