Lazy Lord Loser

You could tell by his hair
like a mangy red sheep’s wool
and his ears
out-sized liver spotted radar dishes, but the hands
dainty, unlined
each finger a newly emerged bean sprout
so fresh and unused
for what was surely an antiquitous age
he was like god – he was god
a bent feeble being
beaten by time’s indifferent rhythms
fast, crawly and the speed of light
skin shrunk to the skull
taut over that Jew nose –
the only nose for a proper god –
mind slipping,
defeated by logic centuries ago
first by the enlightenment’s faint lamps
and then the gas lights
before the blaze of streaming electrons
the ancient Lord defeated at long last
holding his soft hands out in surrender
those hands that have
so obviously
never done a real day’s work – a lazy welfare loser –
portrait of a food stamp god
on the dole since the dawn

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