WordsOut poems by Godfrey Rust  | collection BREAKING THE CHAINS ← 34 of 61 → | home     

The housewife's evening prayer

I hope I’ll go to heaven
but I’d like to know one thing:
in the Father’s many mansions
who does the hoovering? 

I’d love to join the feasting
and drink the bridegroom’s cup,
but could you reassure me
about the washing up? 

Are the angels’ haloes polished?
Do their tunics fit alright?
And do any little cherubs
need a bottle in the night? 

Of course I’m sure that everything
we do there will be nice,
but absolutely nothing
would make it paradise.