Sometimes God likes to drink whiskey
with me:
the hard stuff,
no chaser -
we sit in the living room
in front of the TV and we smoke
cigars, watching the news:
“Earthquake in Haiti…, suicide bomber
in Afghanistan…, hunger in Somalia…,
flood in India…, killings in Iraq…”
I put my empty glass on the coffee table,
close to the half full bottle
and I watch Him exhale clouds of white
smoke.
“You not going to do anything about that?”
I say and point at the screen.
“NO”,
He answers back and pours himself
another glass.
It is almost afternoon.
Sunday.
On the corner, close to my apartment, there is
the Methodist church.
The bell tolls.
I see God trembles.
I got up and go to the window.
I watch the kids play in park under the gold
rays of the sun.
Then I turn around and He is gone.
The bottle is empty.
I go to the fridge, take another one,
turn off the TV
and this day ends like it’s supposed to.
