202. Louise’s Idea

“Sometimes I want to say to God:
‘Hey, we’re not stupid.
Got the message.
Writing’s on the wall.’
We’re here, sinful mortals,
Ready for our fate.
What that is, is plain:

“Think of it.”
Louise leaned back,
Stretching out her aches.
“Everything points to it.
A, B, C.
Take these flimsy bodies
That we’re stuck with,
Third-rate flesh–
Plastic’s twice as strong!
Rips I’ve seen in skin,
Running wounds,
Tumors, cankers–
It would gag a horse.
Bones snap
Like a matchstick, under
Tractors. Stomachs,
They get eat up.
What can’t go wrong?”

She let out her breath,
Contemplative. “What’s
More, let’s say you start
Liking someone.
That’s the worst: God
Know He’s hooked you then.
He can torture you
By getting them.”
She shook her head.
“All the ones afflicted–
Think now, Riah–
Every sick ward
Jammed with every bed–
Them with rabies, lockjaw,
Crushed by cars–
For each  fitsie, wheelie,
There’s a mother,
Or a husband, wife,
A kid–
Keeping watch,
And inside, shrinking dead.
Why’s He give to us
These pretty scenes?
So we don’t get
High and mighty.
Humbles us, our
Noses in the dirt.

“And men–” Louise sniffed.
“Grab a leaf
Right from their Master’s book.”
She spread out her fingers,
Eyed a nail. “Think that’s
Why they hate us?
Us, we live with blood,
Diapers, dirty dishes,
Pee, get peed on–
With us, it’s so plain.
Humble pie, we
Eat it every day.
So they hate us
Same’s they hate the fitsies.
Same, the poor that
Sweat and grub and shove.
Same’s they hate the niggers,
Or the wetbacks, or
Whoever’s voted Dumb One,
Ugly One–the Goat, all
Same as us. Us?
It’s wrote in our flesh
Just what we be:
We’re no angels. Men,
They pray that they’re
Different. But
They’re not.”

Louise tossed her head.
“No doubt about it.
God created folks, same reason
He did two-bit flies:
To eat shit.”

She sighed, grumbled.
“Wish I had a cig.”

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