Holy Hell

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.

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