The dead must be overjoyed
to find that heaven is exactly as advertised:
a steady 72 degrees Fahrenheit,
faint breeze with a scent of salt water,
no pain, disease, dyspepsia
hunger, thirst, jealousy or crime.
Predictably, the newly dead race through heaven
on wings and legs that will never tire,
test hand-springs and air loops,
crash into each other and laugh,
pull others’ halos down over their shoulders
to try and pin arms and wings.
As this happened every day for eons
the long-term angels are not amused
but float past in fixation
on some window of ethereal vision,
until distracted by a now bored newcomer
who asks what they are watching.
Still capable of bemused smirks
the ancient angels explain
how they tired of watching worlds
of bizarre sex acts and digestive malfunctions
or the interplay of good versus evil,
had heard every lofty thought,
were benumbed by every human behavior.
The newly dead knit incorporeal brows,
wonder if heaven is a hell of boredom …
and then they begin to watch and learn
of eternity and possibility,
First line inspired from Ted Kooser, Old Cemetery