Saturday, April 19, 2014

Daily Dose

From Hing & Sign: Poems, 1968 - 1993, by Heather McHugh


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.

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