Press Agent

Met eternity’s press agent today,

he held a paddle with a cross sign,

beat me then said he loved me,

as part of God’s mysterious ways,

then offered me a ticket to immortality

if I gave up all my bad habits even ones I didn’t do.

 

Oh he was so adamant

how it would make me happy

because the Lord was so fond

of those who didn’t do bad things,

which he was always ready to define.

 

Then he introduced me to his friends,

all of whom talked to angels who only they could see,

never smiled, but said they were so happy,

always emphasizing how forgiveness

didn’t take place unless you were very, very sorry

and oh so downright miserable.

 

Tried to believe them

since they warned the Lord

had thunderbolts hidden in the clouds

ready to barbecue me

if once I knew the truth I didn’t obey their rules.

 

The more I tried to conform

all I did was get depressed,

deciding that heaven

sure was not so wonderful

if its press agents represented its best.

 

Eventually found a place

where His publicity handlers weren’t insane,

doing my best to clutch onto forever

as something possibly perfect,

still coping with those flashbacks

over that first bunch of other messengers

every once and a while

looking up for possible thunderbolts.