God Vanquishes Satan from Heaven

God had enough
of the ocean reflecting
His tired face,
of picking stars like lice
from His hair.
The moon, hanging in his room,
like a light bulb, coughed black days ago.
He doesn't care.

He is old and safe
behind His whirlwind.
"Give me some numbers," he says,
poking his fingers in Jesus' belly.
He plays lottery all day and slurps spaghetti
through His great toothless mouth;
The dirty dishes stack about His room
like lists of things-to-do.

The moment He closes one sleepy eye,
the Angel Satan appears, circling
God's bed like a motel chambermaid.

Satan wipes clean the Lord's ashtray
with a white wing and turns up
the volume on the TV. He opens
the curtains and the sun suddenly rises.
Tired of all the racket, the Lord finally
gets out of bed. Satan calls it 'a miracle.'

The Lord, in His fury, points to the door
and Satan takes this as a sign,
counting his blessings as he falls to earth.

And then there is silence,
and the Lord calls it Good.

Jamie Wasserman

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