God’s Promises

I, the Lord, will make barren

your fields and your fairways.

Your refrigerators will be empty,

no steaks and no leg bones,

no butter and no cornbread.

And I will remove your screen doors,

force the mosquitoes indoors

where you lie on the bed undead.

For my house you have not readied,

no flat screen and no broadband.

My habitation is a wasteland

of furniture from motel rooms.

I will send the ostrich and badger

in herds through your wrecked rooms;

your beds will be entered by turnstile;

the floor will seethe with bees.

For my house is but a prefab;

its roof lets in my rain.

Woe is the Lord of Heaven

who has no mansion on earth.

Cries are heard from my fish traps,

crows flap on my hat rack,

pandemonium at the threshold

as the owls and bats flit in.

Silence reigns in the last place

and the first place has no sway.

For my knife-edge is impatient,

my ledge crumbles like cake.

I have warned you to beware.

You await a handsome savior,

but the plain man draws near...

(Zephaniah)