Saturday, April 19, 2014
Gizmos and jeremiads aside, God
romped in a fit of glee, apropos
of nothing. He had no friends
in higher places -- had no bailiwick
at all: he hadn't an inkling, a sou.
The writers, meaning business,
came calling him names.
They wanted him to say the word
was first and last -- they wanted to live
for good. But God was a fool for his own
new feet, and a few
odd monosyllables of song. As long
as he lived, they'd have to
be content. Later, they could read
themselves into his will.