In the most beautiful borough of town stately old homes and
Retirement houses surround a cemetery,
Which sits patiently awaiting its business with the ease of
Enlightenment and eagerness of seekers.
The Devil strolls daily reading necrology lists, looking for bodies
To stock up his shop with or ashes for his fires,
Whilst God, in an assortment of smocks, picks roses or posies of
Wildflowers to shower His souls with.
And inbetween them a groundsman tries to chivvy squirrels
Back up their trees whilst keeping immortals apart,
For there would be an almighty startle if, deep in his obituaries,
Satan wandered into the path of God,
Who, believing him expelled, would be alarmed to find him
Dwelling in this graveyard parlour
And, taking umbrage at his presence, would no doubt call down
His host to immobilize him again.
On the other hand, seeing as how the Almighty has lived amongst
These tombs for centuries, it’s a
Rather damning indictment on His account that he’s been too busy
Studying botany to notice brimstone.
The demon seems oblivious too, as he studies whom to shoehorn
Into his particular boot, and so this
Pair of deities perambulate in ignorance of who wanders among
The headstones of the dead,
And it’s left to the lowly lawnmower man to separate and escort
The spectres, who queue at the ornate gates,
Towards their destinations, regardless of corporeal endeavours, in
Order to keep the peace and feet off the grass.