Listen to Marvin read Pain Paean
What role, I wonder,
In his grand design
Did god envision
For arthritis?
I’m good with glorious
Sunsets, with hummingbirds
And butterflies—but what’s the point
Of my swollen knee,
My wretched ankle,
And, now, the ache
Afflicting
My right hand’s
Most important finger?
And when that dying Pope
Joyously projected
His mortal agony
So we could watch
Him suffer
As his savior did,
What, exactly, was
The point?
What father
Would look on, benign,
While his only son
Hung, bleeding,
Between
Two tortured thieves?
How do we explain
Those flagellants—
Hindus, Moslems, Christians, Jews—
Who, desperate for salvation,
Flay themselves,
Tear their flesh,
And beat their breasts?
What god
(To win a bet!)
Would watch
While Satan
First, slaughtered
Job’s sons and daughters,
Then, sickened him
With stinking pus-filled sores?
Smug priests
And ministers
With pinched smiles,
Address
Conundrums such as these.
They tell us that Jesus
Had to die a painful
Bloody
Death
To redeem us from our sins.
But never quite
Explain
Why our redemption’s price
Is his blood and
Pain.
One Psalm asserts
“The fear of the lord
Is the beginning of wisdom!”
Boy oh boy
They got that right.
Remember Achan,
Joshua’s Jericho soldier?
During the battle,
He came upon some gold,
Silver, and a charming
Embroidered cloth.
What he didn’t do
Was hand it over
To the priests.
For this modest greed,
Joshua, like some Mafia capo,
Executed him,
His sons and daughters,
His oxen, asses, sheep
(Though what they did
We never learn).
They died, devastated
By stones and fire.
Jeez! The congregation
Even burned
The tent they shared.
But that was then.
I’m more concerned
About my golden years,
Pinched by arthritis,
Painted with psoriasis—
My years of itch and hobble.
Like Job, I want my day
In court!
Achan paid
Because he skimmed some loot,
But, dammit,
I want to know
What sin, what blame
Convinced that terrifying
Vengeful god
To strike me lame!
(3/19/07)