The Meeting Poem by Leo Yankevich
The Meeting
Last night I talked to God.
I'd run out of beer.
I said: 'Father, I'm afflicted;
my spine and every bone
in my body hurts.
My feet are swollen,
my tongue is dry.
Please, please free me
from this heavy burden.'
He said: 'No, I'll decide.'
But 'I am unworthy,
fat, old and ugly.
I have no purpose here.'
'You are my messenger,
touching the brows
of the innocent and young.'
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8/24/2026 6:51:21 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
