Fried Oysters

When I got to Heaven,

God was gone

 

His desk cleaned out,

the Angels pawned

 

Not one scant sign,

he was ever there

 

Eviction notice,

pinned to his chair

 

My ride had left,

my ticket torn

 

No place to stay,

my hopes forlorn

 

Looking down,

I saw the truth

 

The clouds were empty,

destitute

 

All tenets followed,

a promise made

 

Those things I dreamed of,

the church forbade

 

So here I stay,

imprisoned high

 

No pearly gates

—the oysters fried

 

(Rosemont College: February, 2020)

 

 

 

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