mrs. god’s kitchen
mrs. god was tired of the kitchen
every day was the same
the red and yellow checked cloth
hung just so around the small round table
lenny bruce cracking tired jokes, eating
strawberry pie with whipped cream
janis singing endlessly to jim morrison
his eyes burning holes in the linoleum as
he sliced bananas into crescent moons,
sprinkled them over fruity frosted flakes
mrs. god was tired of staying home
her husband had all the good times
directing traffic, finding parking spaces
bailing junkies out of drug busts
granting wishes, fervent dreams
home runs, negative pregnancy tests
found keys, cell phone messages
good haircuts, matched socks
empty laundromats, exact change
answering the most popular prayers
bringing smiles and sighs to believers
mrs. god was tired of the weather
seventy- eight degrees and sunny
every single gosh darned night
she was tired of floating weightlessly
as she stirred pots and tossed dishes into
rainwater mixed with tide and bleach alternative
she was tired of disheveled rock stars
sarcastic comedians, revolutionary heroes
nancy spungeon’s voice, che guevara’s eyes
she hitched a ride one night with jerry garcia
they ate ice cream with the big dipper and the little one
even god couldn’t find her for awhile
he had to stay home and cook and entertain
nobody seemed to really notice he was gone
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