God wants you
to stop fucking around.
Mary made pancakes
and sausage
and ate them
while asking you
why you buy tight jeans
and drink so much
diet soda.
Joseph locked his shop
when he saw you come
through the door.
God sees everything
although his head
has been in his palms
since your 15th birthday.
The angels don't smoke your brand
and make fun of your wing tips
when you dress for a date.
Satan keeps telling The Grim Reaper
to keep your name at the bottom
of his list.
God keeps sending you messages
to check your shit
in the form of
traffic tickets,
firings, divorces
and lost bar fights.
God loves all his children
you keep saying
and yet
all your shit keeps rolling down hill.
You are the subject of an ongoing betting pool
between
all the angels and demons.
That can't be good,
you know?
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