Invitation from God
I’m partial to the wise old man in the kaftan
with the gray hair and the long beard,
because who doesn’t love a father?
Whatever floats your boat, I like to say.
And if you need my wrath, I can provide it.
But, just for the record, I don’t get angry.
You ask “why?” and expect an answer.
Who answers my questions? I’ll tell you:
I stopped asking them a long time ago.
Sometimes, I think the most useful purpose I serve
is to be the last perfect scapegoat.
The buck stops here. That’s what you say.
You keep giving me the buck, and usually,
I just put it back in the drawer. Sometimes,
I buy a shot of tequila.
Wars, I’m sorry, but those are not my problem.
Global warming, poverty, injustice. All that, yours.
I stick to roses, caribou, mountain streams,
and the many flavors of things from the earth.
If there’s something you feel you can’t explain,
you can pretty much figure it’s mine.
As for me, I’ve always been entertained
by the theologians and their stories.
Look, I say, give it up. Stop trying so hard.
Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m here.
I’m infinitely patient. I’ve got the tequila
and I’ll be here on the porch, waiting,
even if it takes you forever to come and have a shot.