Idle hands (they tell us when very young)
Are the Devil’s workshop. And honest pay
For honest work (our unions’ constant song),
The rule that floats our social contract’s weight.
Damned balderdash! It’s time to take a clear
And cold-eyed look at what work’s all about—
For chrissake, it’s penal servitude! Fear
Boiled up in rattled Yahweh (bully lout),
Distressed that we would know as much as he
Of moral evil and of good. Judge God
Pronounced His grim sentence. Six thousand years
At hard labor (thus far)—for what? How odd
To serve so long for biting on a fruit—
Enough! Grant us parole, you tyrant brute!
(4/15/08)