& our dearly departed too, looking down
from up there in Heaven

          ( since the alternative is not something
          we let ourselves think on but we know
          some of them weren’t saved & we know
          what the Bible has to say about that, but
          we act like we forget they were heathens
          because it feels wrong to bring it up )

just doing whatever dead folks do,
hanging out in their Heavenly houses,
drinking Heavenly tea

          ( extra sweet, now that they can’t get
          sugar sick )

leaning back in their Heavenly La-Z-Boys
& watching our lives on their Heavenly
TV sets, each of us left on Earth a channel
they can flip to

I wonder if God lets them see & hear
the good shit, like sex or music with swearing
or folks drinking cold beer—which in Heaven
is probably the bad shit but I reckon
that’s still the shit they miss the most,
cause I would

          ( but maybe I’m not going to Heaven
          even though my family will never admit it
          because it feels wrong to bring that up )

I hope he lets them watch it all
except I hope there’s some rules, like
I miss my Meemaw & Pawpaw &
I hope they’re having a good time
watching over me but I wish
they wouldn’t see me having sex,
like maybe everybody gets one channel
where it’s someone they never knew
& that’s the only channel with sex &
God censors the rest

          ( Fundamentally I don’t believe
          in censorship but there’s gotta
          be some kind of line you know? )

the angels probably get to watch whatever they want
on account of being angels but I imagine they don’t
enjoy the sex & swearing & beer & all that
considering they don’t have that shit in Heaven
& Heaven’s their home team

whatever they’re watching though they’re sure
as Hell not watching close enough & neither is God

I’m supposed to wanna go there,
pearly gates, gold streets, etc., but
what good is gold when you’re dead
seems a shame to store up riches there
when it’d make this hard living a whole
lot less hard if He’d let me store them up here

all that gold & they can’t even buy a beer

but down here I’ve got some change
& a scratch-off worth a six-pack & a little
bit of good bad shit I can get into

          ( & what I get into may not be Heaven
          but what I got here’s close enough )

I can call my baby up & say hey
baby, put something dirty on
the radio, I’m coming home,
let’s give some poor dead bastards
we ain’t ever met a show