E mail

or

"Ten thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone"

The thrill at first of messages from air,
a screen alive with busy conversation
the ego subtly flattered.

Until the junk mail blossomed like a fungus
a daily chore of skimming off the scum
to find the meaty-matter.

Too many people with too much to say
All day, all night, all round the globe
the electronic chatter.


This must be what it's like for God.

"You have six billion unread messages."

He isn't dead; he's just logged off
and gone out for a stroll
through whorling galaxies
of less demanding stars.