If God Was My Neighbour

Sure, if God was my neighbour
I’d be outside mowing the lawn all day,
glancing over the fence on every pass
and at night tremble under the sheets.
How could you sleep?

And I’d think twice about calling the cops with a noise complaint.
It’s not, as I understand it, that God is incapable of whispering,
I’ve heard of that famous still small voice, but at times
the muttering coming from the kitchen can be thunderous.

Not to mention visitors at all hours, Abraham and his skittish son,
and all those sheep parked out on the street on days
hot and long as deserts.
Moses and Aaron drop by too often.
Esther and Ruth not nearly enough.
And those tedious twins and all the ill-bred brothers,
stop in just to bitch and brawl. 
Solomon showed up the other day, high on his own flatulence.
Job came by once. You could have cut the tension with a khopesh.
And all the while a procession of major and minor prophets
trying to convince God to come out of retirement,
at least do a bit of volunteering.

But all God wants to do is reminisce
and tend that lone donkey in the front yard,
the one the son rode into Jerusalem through the Gate of Mercy,
patched cloaks and leafy branches of trees tossed across the road.
Oh what a magnificent guileless send-up that was!
Dovish king on an ass!
A big benign middle finger to every preposterous little Herod!
Such hope the day held, the city was moved by joy,
people danced, “Hosanna,” they shouted,
“Prince of Peace,” they shouted.

Thinking about it, God still chokes up,
while the burro, despite apples from God’s own hand,
grows old and weary watching the street
for a couple approaching disciples,
the words still clear in those donkey ears,
“The Lord has need of you.”