The Day They Arrested God

On the day the police arrested God
He was sitting in a diner on Sixth Avenue.
He was salting His fries.
The public had decided enough is enough.

It has gone too far

A foot has to be put

down. Our children,

they said,

need a real hero.

So the squad car parked outside

with two cops visible through the tinted glass.
They waited and drank coffee.

They didn’t know what would happen.
The buttons on the waitress’s dress loomed over His burger.

“There are some men here to see you.”
 God smiled to himself.
There were always men to see God.
Before she turned,
she thanked Him for her husband’s cancer.
There were always women thanking God.
He took His napkin from His lap and placed it on the table.
He looked over His right shoulder

through the window.

He saw the red and blue lights, and He saw the cops

with their hands in their pockets.

But above that He saw sky
azure and round

and so ripe He could take a bite out of it.

— 2008