God In Heaven

“Tired?”, a man so small he barely saw him

Asked, his beady eyes fixed on the ground:

His life might have depended on the steel-tight gaze.

Our man was shattered, broken down, no sleep for days:

“Sure I’m tired.” No more was really needed.

The small man raised his eyes and looked around.

“Man, it’s cold”, he smiled and spied the main street,

Blew into his badly blistered hands.

The wind was whistling hard and hurling city dust

And both men shuffled leeward to avoid the gusts.

“Guess it’s true – there ain’t no God in Heaven:

I can’t see us in any master plan.”