The Italian Shower Curtain

I got a great deal once on a purchase I found, At that great virtual auction house that lives on the web. It was a large sheet of cloth about six foot nine; They shipped it to me and I was unhappy to find That it was stained and burned and dirty enough- I thought of sending it back, the finish was so rough. I decided that anyway I'd make it into a curtain, My shower kept puddling; that much was certain. I cut off the bottom; it was much too long And hemmed it and hung it up there, for a song. My friends thought it looked familiar; but couldn't recall Where it was they'd seen such a pattern- All dusty and covered with what- blood spatter? Like a crime scene outline, it seemed to have a past; I sprayed it with acrylic to make sure it would last. Started getting funny phone calls almost from day one- How did everyone know where my shower curtain came from? From Turin, someone told me, and I felt so relieved, That it didn't cost more, as they had priced it like a sheet. And then the whole world started wanting to buy it; Museums and churches all wanted my steal. Callers began to inquire, is it real? I told one lady that, with spray gloss it got slick: With spray gloss? She shouted, just before I heard the click; I'll get back to you, she had said, sounding horrified, And I began to wonder, how this cloth got so glorified- The pope's coming Friday and wants to stay with me I'm flabberghasted- not even Catholic, you see? This purchase has certainly upset my calm days, And the thing glows at night and gives off all these rays- It must have been dropped here by some alien spacecraft, And to get so nutty over a shower curtain's just daft. Maybe I'll sell it and retire rich to Tahiti I hear that the weather and sea there are pretty. I think to the highest bidder, I'll gift that white elephant And buy myself a shower curtain, much more elegant.