One day two gods were talking,
the god of This Man and the god of That Man,
over coffee.
The god of This Man remarks, perplexed:
The thing that gets me is that This Man
thinks I care what he does in his bedroom,
as if I didn’t have my own life to live
and live and live.
Yes, and That Man erects
the most gorgeous architectural edifaces,
and then blows them to smithereens
because he doesn’t care for You,
god of This Man,
or because some one of them
is irate about something
or other.
Such children!
Yes, and
they spend half their mortal days
staring at a tube
watching That Man or This Man
live his life, while their own
is spent cursing at traffic
and procuring tubes
with wider screens
and clearer pictures,
so that they can live their
lives vicariously with more clarity
and without having to strain
their aging eyes.
There’s barely a tree left, a meadow
without one of their living-boxes
perched on it, or a mountain pass
without one of their wheel-boxes
rumbling through.
What to do? What to do?
said both gods at once.
I say let’s teach ‘em a lesson,
as he reached for his lightening bolt
and volcano generator.
Let’s turn up the thermostat on the sun.
No, said the god of This Man,
let’s give ‘em one more chance,
the way we’ve done through eternity.
Thus said,
they continued their coffee,
heads bowed, muttering softly.
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