The Prophet Poem by Lewis Eron

God spoke to me at prayer today
As I was trying hard to pray
A voice came down from on high
It said: “I don’t think I like your tie.”
“Though I do not want to be a pest,
I also do not like your vest.
The pattern’s loud. It clashes with your eyes,
And anyway you have nicer ties.
You were much better dressed last week.
You know, it’s not righteousness I seek,
It’s not prayers, nor doing good deeds in haste
Rather it’s dressing in good taste.
Instead of being crude or crass
People should try to act with class.”

All this seems at least to me
A divine sort of blasphemy.
I raised my voice to God above,
“My Lord, what has become of love? ”
God said. “Now they do it in the street.
At least before they were discreet.
It wasn’t because this one steals and this one robs,
I destroyed Gomorrah because they were slobs.
You know the reason Satan fell?
He did not know how to behave well.
For the commander of heaven’s host
Was not St. Michael but Emily Post.

He made me a prophet. I was called,
Even though I was growing bald.
My mission is not to end sin and fun,
But merely regulate the way it’s done.

So let us offer praise to God on high
And never wear a clashing tie.