And when the time comes,
what will be left,
will love be left?

hatred as well?

Will the protuberant
gestures
of a worn-down society
still stick up
like bruised,
but not broken,
pimples?

Of what discharge
will humans finally be made of?

We have told ourselves
that we come from the *****
of God, and the ovaries
of Mother Nature.

But God drinks too much
and comes home wasted
far too often,
far too drunk
to ****.

And mother,
well,
mother does the best she can.

So what we come from them
is spurned love,
of untruths often told
over bed-time stories
when God was talking about
his drunken outings
more than
morals,
and we listen
with beady little eyes,
because God is drunk,
and try as we might,
we cannot stop loving him.

So we come from love
and hatred,
addiction
and
hopefulness,
Mother giving us as much as we can
until we betray her.