Three watching parsons
under a soggy sky.
They observe, record and recall.
The first pulls prophetic truth out of his arse.
The second acclaims the prophecy to be Gawd's holy writ.
The third declares that any who disagree are servants of Satan.
The congregation applauds, shouting affirmations and praise.
They clutch their guns and gonads,
and lock their teeth on the shirttails of ignorance.
We fear what we hate
because we hate what we fear.
The thing we hate the most is what we hate inside ourselves.
We could, perhaps, accept it,
even love it,
if we could admit to ourselves that it belongs there.
The parsons have flown over to the parking lot
behind the Family Restaurant
to feast on wilted lettuce, bread crusts and half-eaten omelets.
Gawd is taking away his glaciers and icecaps because he loves you.
He is filling your water glass with plastic bits
and metal-mine tailings because that is God's will.
Gawd commands that you eat at the Family Restaurant,
Gawd commands you to order extra freedom fries.
Take out boxes are occasions of sin, shun them.
Questions are sinful.
Doubt is sinful.
You are a sinful sinning sinner.
Never fear, Gawd will make it all better, because,
Gawd will make it all better. Maybe.
Somewhat . . . or maybe not,
probably not. Not.