Tuesday, September 30, 2008


On Lube, they told their god they didn’t need him.
They said he was passé and obsolete.
There wasn’t anybody to succeed him
But Lubans had been disinclined to heed him
Since the failure of the last three crops of wheat.

They locked the doors of all the planet’s churches
And sent him on his way in pouring rain,
And, as he passed the row of golden birches,
They cried out from their lofty tree top perches,
“Get thee hence and don’t come back again.”

It’s hard to be a god without a people,
Cast out when praise is shouted down by bile.
Oh, do not think that folk, like faithful sheep,’ll
Keep singing adorations ‘neath the steeple
If they do not think the contract is worthwhile.

No comments: