Author Joseph Heywood
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Miracles and Such

Where lurks the statistical
In the mystical? Gadzooks
We say, Gadzooks!
Of all those old holy books
Full of hyperbole and writ
By multiple chefs and cooks
All self-appointed
By unseen power,
To translate unseen into
Do-not caveats,
Begats and so forth
And like that, you see,
And so one, then two, et cetera
This begat by that begat
And on the shores is where we’re at
The great deluge alleged done,
We await explosion
Of  Sol, our nearby sun.
Whilst miracles come and go
Like storms on coasts
Leaving debris to pile up
Over time most unrememorial.
Where we ask why to those who
Read from books of thou and thy
And send forth girls and boys
In god’s name (generically)
(Dare not ye asketh why)
Just sally thou forth to try
And perhaps to die.  Amen.
Seek not your reward on this earth,
It awaiteth you in Heaven,
With scores of slippery virgins
By at least one account and who’re
We to deny such imaginings,
Some of us who drink wine and wafers
Calling it blood and flesh – not
Symbolically, but cannibalistically --
For real while some dude in blue carries
The go-codes of oblivion,
Callin’ them, sayin,’  the foo-baw.
The only miracle? We’re still here.
Or are we?

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