Fried Oysters

When I got to Heaven, God was gone His desk cleaned out, the Angels pawned Not one scant sign, he was ever there Eviction notice, pinned to his chair My ride had left, my ticket torn No place to stay, my hopes forlorn Looking down, I saw the truth The clouds were empty, destitute All tenets followed, a promise made Those things I dreamed of, the church forbade So here I stay, imprisoned high No pearly gates —the oysters fried (Rosemont College: February, 2020)