Dear God of thunder, be you Thor or Yahweh,
that bolt you sent down to our local church
the flash and boom perfectly overlaid,

had startled us for sure, but not that much,
a brief moment of awe, but no, not fear.
They say the likelihood of getting struck

is less than being a Lotto millionaire,
but still, the chances are still bloody slim,
no heavenly ejaculations scare

me half as much as what is soon to come,
when I will have to change my newborn girl,
to intricately thread her pudgy arms

into a baby grow, to keep her still
as I try to wipe up her stinky bits—
now that’s the thought that steals my sleep and fills

my days with with sudden chills and choking fits.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

    Apr 13, 2012 @ 18:52:32

    Like it a lot. Suggest more tags, if I may, to attract more visitors. God, Thor, Lotto etc. See tags on


  2. peter litton
    Apr 15, 2012 @ 23:40:15

    A poem of two halves but I’m not sure they fit together.


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