A Poem in The Meeting Brownlee Anthology


It's morning, so I flip the radio on.

"People fall in love, like in fairy tales.
I'm not sure I like what they can do.
I'm afraid that God has no master plan,
He only takes what he can use."

That's just what I need
in the morning
socks off and my hair uncombed,
the computer not even warm,
so I can check my Email and the news
make sure the outside world exists.
No master plan.

God uses me, he USES me. Something's wrong with that.
Divine ruler of the universe making me do his bidding,
cosmic strings on my wrists and ankles,
I'm a marionette,
I dance to the greater pleasure of God, yeah right.
I've got better things to do.

If he is doing that, fine. Serves him right.
The way we turned out it must look like a
sitcom with the laff-track out of whack. The same mindless plots repeated.
Always in rerun.
TV Guide's pithy synopsis for it would read like:
The World: The rich and strong screw the poor and weak. Each week.
You know what would happen if the World got ratings?
God would end up like Brandon Tartakoff, out on his omniscient ass.