portion of the artwork for Sean Patrick Mulroy's poetry
Hermes opens up
Sean Patrick Mulroy

Takes off his winged sandals.
Leans over his knees

Let me tell you something,
I pretty much run this place.
I control everything you choose
to worship: Money, Politics,
Sleep, Fertility, Travel—
I invented all of your favorite toys
Cell phones?
Professional sports,
the electric guitar?
All mine.

Don’t kid yourself about Aphrodite.
She spun out sometime in the 1800s.
Western civilization and I,
we have an arrangement.
I lead a few old white men to
an afterlife they don’t really deserve
and they pay me to keep you entertained.
Occupied. Its more convenient that way.

Incidentally, there is no god
but convenience.
His true name is ancient and
we are all his children.
though you call us the pantheon
though you call us the Olympians
you should call us the conveniences
scapegoats for your misfortunes
outlets for your hopes

though you might presume to
look for god in the places you
have built you need only leave
sacrifices to burn or to bleed out
on the bleak altar in the temple
of the human heart—

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 36 | Spring 2012