A Poem About God

It's time to let God out of the books.
He's been standing in those books
with his face to the wall for too long.
He's tired of jumping through your hoops,
afflicting people with boils and whatnot.
The burning bush is so--I don't know--last millennium.
I think God has paid his dues by now, don't you?

But how could a benevolent god
allow so much suffering in the world?
This God is a bad egg.
Let's lock his ass up in a book!

Where's God? He used to be in this mountain,
in this ocean, in this thundercloud,
in this sheaf of wheat.
Sorry, he's over there in the book.
And he's so much more...engaging.
We've got a top notch team of writers for him.
Our ratings are through the roof!

It's time to let God out of his contract.
The statute of limitations is up.
He's tired of smoting and smiting in your infomercials.
He doesn't want to be Big Brother anymore.
Leave the job of omniscient censorship to Santa Claus.

But where will we find God if he's not in the book?
In your asshole.
That's right. God will be in your asshole.
And in your penis and testicles,
and your vagina and your breasts,
and in your piss and spit and cum.
There's a lot of places he hasn't been to in a long time.

Oh, you let him do some cameos and guest appearances
in poems about flowers and sunshine,
but God hasn't slopped around
in a big pile of shit for ages.
Sure--a lot of people are going to be upset,
and there will be lawsuits,
but think how nice it will be
to have God smiling up at you every morning
as you brush your teeth.

Let him out, I say.
He's tired of being the heavy-handed shtarker.
And he wants to shave, already.
You'd be amazed at how much food
gets caught in that beard.

God is tired of being cooped up in church pews
and shoved into hotel drawers.
And he's tired of being unable to screen
the people who read his lines.
Some of these creepazoids would not be
getting a second call-back, let me tell you.

God, bubbulah, stay with me on this one.
It's going to be sweet.
Millions of people bowing down
and praising your name.
We'll split the take 50/50.

Maybe God is tired of being a he.
Maybe he'd like to be a she for a while,
or an it.
Mommy, God is under my bed
and he's keeping me awake.
You'd better share God
with your little brother right now!

And what a boring domain
you've given God to live in.
Fluffy white clouds and
round-the-clock harp music.
Like waiting in the dentist's chair
with a head full of novocain for all eternity.
It's no wonder people are always
breaking those commandments.
Maybe God would like to live in a tree,
or at the bottom of the ocean,
or inside a bubbling volcano.

God has done his time in your books;
he's up for parole.
He's played all your make-believe games with you
and participated in your puppet shows
like a bemused, cheerful, over-indulgent parent.
He deserves some time off for good behavior,
don't you think?

David Aronson
April 2006