Adjusting his sandals atop a cloud,
another glass of ambrosia,
washing down the manna from breakfast.
Admittedly
it was his fault.
checking in every two thousand years or so
still…
Did he use the wrong formula?
Predilection to metaphor?
Sense of humor?
experiential learning?
cultural memory?
No, all here.
He couldn’t spot what was missing
but there it was
signs everywhere with his name on them
billboards, placards, sandwich boards…
Leviticus 18:22?
He almost chuckled
so long ago,
hadn’t he cleared that up when he sent ole-what’s-his-name?
Couldn’t he be forgiven a short lapse in judgment?
an adolescent smiting phase,
nothing more
Another glance
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”
book burnings
African villagers hung by their necks
accused
spells to damage crops and shrink cocks.
Didn’t they see the expiration?
“Magic”
“best if used before 1650 A.D.”
He checked his watch,
2008 peered back at him
he realized
too much credulity.
It was going to be a long night.
