Wineskins Archive

December 5, 2013

A Poem: Remnant Theology (Aug 2012)

Filed under: — @ 10:04 pm and

By Scott Simpson

Sometimes people just want to beat the odds
and so they build up altars to the pickiest
gods they find and close up big wooden
doors, hole-up centuries maybe, writing
tracts to be distributed door to door
(not that they’d just let anyone in, mind you,
only those who know the special hand-
shake and secret passwords—things that aren’t
clearly spelled out in tracts because,
some things you just know).
This one group, then, gave birth to twin baby
boys who almost immediately started evan-
gelizing (some folks are just born
to it) and as they preached, the gods were so
pleased they got even pickier, and Sunday
after Sunday the congregation shrank
as old women were found to have committed
atrocities with their hairdressers and teens
were found cowering under porches with bankers
and even the former pastor was sighted
off-roading in a Dodge with six-inch
lifts and stacks of baseball cards in the back seat.
And when the twins had grown to manhood, one
was found by the other to have eaten shellfish with his
salad (we don’t know which one) and the gods
struck him dead (which gods we don’t know)
and no one watched the sole faithful twin
(which one this was we know not) air-
lifted straight to heaven (we’re not sure
which heaven; the rest of us were already in hell).

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