portion of the artwork for Jay Carson's poem

Jay Carson

Suppose that God is unsure
and wants to know
how creation worked out.

Who better to ask than us?

I imagine a purgatory.
(Hey, this will be taxing and painful
work most suitable for the transgressive.)
There, the most discerning,
the critics among us,
will be met as we struggle
creakily out of the needles and pins
and hot pokers or whatever makes up our punishments.

Yes, He will be a He and with a white beard
so as not to shock us.
And will say, as at the exit
of a new amusement park,
something like:
How was it? How’d you like the ride?
Would you take a minute

(rhetorical, because what else are we going to do?)
and fill out this brief survey? Which, of course, won’t
be brief because it was one long trip,
and, hello, we’re in eternity.

I’m afraid I don’t have time
to reproduce all my suggestions
for the whole survey here.
But some possible questions follow:

  1. You know, the usual demographic stuff:
    Where were you born/how long did you live?
    How mean was your mom or dad? Please circle which was meaner.

  2. On a scale of 1 to 22,000 with 17,650 being the best you humans could possibly appreciate, how would you rate your life?

  3. On the same scale, how do you rate Policy #1297 B, the so-called Nature Red in Tooth and Claw Policy? Note if you have had any personal experience with the policy. No metaphors, please.

  4. How’d you like the horse? Or the way I filigreed the fall breeze through those trees I think you call maple reds?

Return to Archive

FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 46 | Fall 2015