Fried Oysters

When I got to Heaven,

God was gone

His desk cleaned out,

the Angels pawned

Not one scant sign,

he was ever there

Eviction notice,

pinned to his chair

My ride had left,

my ticket torn

No place to stay,

my hopes forlorn 

Looking down,

I saw the truth

The clouds were empty,

destitute

All tenets followed,

a promise made

Those things I dreamed of,

the church forbade

So here I stay, 

imprisoned high

No pearly gates

—the oysters fried

(Rosemont College: February, 2020)