Election

Flayed alive and spouting flames
from earlobes to big toes to rectum
in a Hell pit just for one,
John Calvin calls out
“Heaven, I alone have found thee.”

While one in four Americans
wallow with slack jawed hookers and
clammy handed corporate lawyers,
slap lips around thick barbecue ribs,
argue against the evils of welfare,
and smile as they tell you
how much they love you
even though you will burn, burn, burn.

Then they splash themselves with water
and call it redemption
as they swoon over the pearly teethed preacher
who promises to audit God’s Heavenly election
and edit the Book of Life.

Then that wealth dripping and dribbling man of God
flips to end of the Bible,
gleefully wanting to get to the good bits.
While science and nuance howl their wisdoms,
I grimace at the math.

Their Bible only promises
144,000 vacancies in Hotel Heaven
with 70 million Americans certain of their reservations.
Perhaps, if the educational system were
better about teaching arithmetic,
they wouldn’t be so eager to usher in Armageddon.

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