His Creation
(Hell, you gotta love it)

by Paul Dickey

The last time the sun and the moon spoke,
they were hassling over some petty zillion
dollar fee when Father eventually awoke.
His illegal and immoral speculation in million

real estate finally had paid off, and he made it
into Sunset Hills Division to lord over and sing hymns
to St. Peter and Augustine. Hell, you gotta love it.
You would know nothing of this to see him.

Now he spends days selling off used cameras and bid
on online auctions. Mom calls it is really true —
oh, all the junk of his life! It is a good way to get rid
of things, I suppose. You can’t take it with you.

And now he just wants to wonder his luck
of his creation that how he had went
everywhere and always busy. He gets a few bucks
for the things forty years ago he spent

his last twenty dollars on. Get a few bucks back,
he thinks, and he wouldn’t look foolish or a hack.