God’s ten minutes at two-thirty

The Lord said to my Lord,

“Sit at my right hand and I’ll make your enemies your footstool.”

They shook hands and then He turned to me.

“Glad you could make it. We need to talk.”

Whoo boy, here we go.

He came around and sat on the edge of the desk.

“How are things going?”

Great. Fine, yeah good, no real good.

“The wife?”

Super, yeah. You know, tough as nails!

“The kids?”

Oh sure, ditto. Chuggin’ along. Thanks for asking.

“You got me a little worried.”

Me? Ah Boss, don’t put Yourself out. You know me,

I’m a little slow, but I bring it around.

“I guess.”

Hey, who’re we talkin’ to here? I’m Your guy!

“Yeah, I know, I know. But still.

You got me worried.”

Delicious horrifics

(I’m naming names. There’s no

other way to get a conviction.)

I went from sunshine to a purple forest.

To loves undeep and loves untrue.

A chilly destiny!

Ruined digits, waxy eye,

leafy stone, milky thigh –

Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Sue –

violent loves in a violet

violet hue

A heart for the game*

Let’s not tell a boy now

he can’t play ball.

Not at twelve, or ever,

not when he loves it as he does.

Don’t spring on him a tricky valve,

slamming shut his play

today and plan for tomorrow.

Don’t take his heart, Lord,

when his heart is for the game.

*For Bas, who got some bad news.