The Religious Sentiments of 3:00 PM on the Friday before a Holiday Week

On Monday all the ordered angels woke
to muddy post-creation throbbing heads,
regretting the beer-winged hook-ups in their beds,
mumbling need some coffee, need a smoke,
when fucking sober Yaweh, thunderous, spoke,
a boom of early-risen pep; he said,
What’s wrong with you? You all look like you’re dead!
and laughed at his immortally funny joke,
But serious, the Lord went on, we must
provide him occupations lest he stray
from righteousness. The angels said, You jerk!
Who wants to labor? Let him play.
Like fathers everywhere the Lord just cussed
beneath his breath; shazam!—created work.