2010/06/28 Disaster Poem by Margaret Alice

Studying an uplifting text, contemplating spiritual
solutions to every problem, smiling with the bliss
of the uninformed - we create our own problems -
how to solve them applying advice from a Cloud
Seven guy who smiles when someone robs him,
lovingly concedes when cars cut in, sends free
gifts to those paying with bouncing cheques

Strangely enough, the rest of us blighters find that
we cannot wash and salve the feet of the black-
guards we meet, we do not register an outpouring
of love when people defraud us – but apparently
the author of spiritual texts is the exception that
proves the rule, he lovingly whispers sweet
songs to his children and coos to his wife

I suppose this is why I am not in the same holy
league - I shout at my children and mutter under
my breath when I have to serve hubby and them
as a symbol of obeisance; my service is window-
dressing because underneath I am just a normal
human being who bit off too large a piece from
life’s smorgasbord and cannot chew it

I have a low boredom threshold disqualifying me
from excelling in any bureaucracy - the author of
‘spiritual love’ books is leading me astray claiming
nobody has to perform to another’s standard to be
loved, nobody has to be mistake-free – hah, has he
ever come across mistake-ridden me? My reputation
at work is moth-ridden, attempt at improvement

Ends in spectacular disaster, blissfully happy this
spiritual master exclaims ‘I never had a problem
that did not succumb to love and gifts of affection,
affirmations of godly presence, insistence on
absence of strife’ - I suspect a movie of his life
would be too boring to watch - while a movie
of my own disasters

Would drive people to tears – of helpless laughter
depicting my literal interpretation of all advice and
clever dictums, my subsequent failure and con-
sequent shame would cause such mirth, I might
become a comedy queen; while I would be
stuck with embarrassed red-glowing cheeks
everybody else would enjoy the game…