Spare me that ‘it happens for a reason’
Shit. No ‘God’ pre-packages my life
like mom did for school lunch.

If so, where the hell is my
Twinkie? Where the hell is my
snack? Dammit God,
tell me where are those casual
surprise of joy?!
You see God has to be a man.
Dad could never pack lunch right.

Now I don’t know, somehow the worst
tends to bring out the worst in us,
like drops of hemlock in our ear,
asking if death wants to play.

Having never met God, I imagine
I would fight him like I fight myself.
A sort of bare-knuckle pride fight
with a devastating one-sided advantage.

But if God is a part of me, perhaps
he would have a pent house apartment
in my mind, with an azure pool and riverfront view.
Although, something tells me
If we do meet, ‘they’ (my other selves)
would find him face down
In the water, days later,

like I found dad one day.

 
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