by Larry Brody
NOTE FROM LB:
An honest poem about an honest issue and a question asked by a man who may or may not be honest, by whom I mean…me. Writing this never felt like a risk, but posting it here, ah…this is much tougher than I thought it would be.
I Asked God A Question The Other Night
I asked God a question the other night.
I figured it was pretty important, so there
Was no point in messing with angels or
Emissaries or any of the other lowdown
“God,” I said — I always call Him God. Yahweh
Seems kind of limiting. I mean, what if the
Buddhists, or the Mohammedans are right?
You wouldn’t like some guy calling you by your
Arch-rival’s name, would you? And since
We’re in God’s image…well, you know the drill.
“God,” I said, “I need the skinny. My
Whole life’s gonna be based on the results of
This conversation, so we’re talking the real
Deal, you hear? So, God,”
I said, “if I do what those who love me
Think I can, if I be who I really be — am who
I am — no cheating myself, no fakery, no
Personalities splitting off into lies,
If I do this, God, will I live?
Or will I die?”
See, I remember years ago, when we
Made this pact. Being fresh, and green,
And hopeful, I got God to agree to a bargain.
He wouldn’t take me until I’d achieved my
Purpose on earth, until I’d done
What I’d been born to do.
I figured that would give me plenty of
Time to work it all out,
But it’s been twenty-five years since
That particular talk, and my
Hair’s turning white, and my muscle tone
Is shot, and hard ons go even faster than they
Come, and I’ve avoided my purpose
With a will, and a wile, and a vengeance
That’s supposed to be His.
So if I were Yahweh, or Allah, or even
Zeus, as a matter of fact, I’d be pretty
Pissed off, and I’d follow the letter of my
Law. Which means the minute this lying
Coward I really am became who he was
Supposed to — wham, harder tack time,
Baby. Eternal sleep.
(So, anyway, and all that), I asked God the
Big Question, about the fate of Number One.
Should I get down to business? Was it safe?
Would I still have a few years
For my body and its parts to get softer still?
Now I don’t know about you, but generally
Speaking God answers me. No signs, or
Signals, no burning bushes or
Open-ended events, but the real thing,
Genuine auditory hallucinations, brought on
By a burning imagination, a feverish need,
A belief in a reality that hasn’t existed
Since the last year B.C.
“God,” I said, “if I am who I am, will I die?”
And God’s voice shook my bed,
Thunder and lightning clashed in my head.
“Stop being an asshole!” was what He said.
Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. Although the book whose cover you see above is for sale on Kindle, he is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with a snort.