the love of god

‘Oh, for the love of God!’
my poor mother used to say
regularly when washing machine,
heater or my alcodad was broke.
God’s love must’ve worn out
like our fake Persian carpet
because, despite her prayer,
things went downhill steadily –
unsteadily in my father’s case.
Listening to the daily news,
I concluded that God wasn’t
that busy elsewhere either.
Likely retired or took up golf.
That’d be par for something.

Day 6, God creates smartass species,
gives them dominion over all else
then, as they continually screw up,
eventually tires of trying to save
those pets from glaring design faults.
And there’s my frantic mother,
like billions of others, calling God
to fix every wonky thing, as if
He gives a hoot if a washer works.

(Voice of God)
Go to the laundromat, woman,
and give me a break! Warranty
on creation ended long ago.