I’ve just seen God on his day off,
tramping alone along the tow path,
swinging a black transistor radio.
I said hello but he just walked past,
pulled his grey polyester slacks
up past his ankles and stood on his toes
to sidestep a puddle, and I still don’t know
if he heard me or not as I called his name.
But maybe tomorrow he’ll sit for a while,
switch on the radio and sing with me,
and we’ll raise a glass to the heavens,
and when the words come easy
he’ll try to explain why he took you from me,
then he’ll carry me over to splash
through that puddle, and I’ll smile
as the cold sinks in. Tomorrow. Maybe.