When Popeye Talked with God

[Cerise]

When Popeye talked with God

it was a meeting of iconographic

giants.

 

As if,

for the first time,

the word spinach and the word sacred

could exist in the same sentence

without spontaneously combusting each other.

 

‘I know yer pretty busy,’

Popeye would say,

‘But I gots a couple questions.’

 

And maybe God would adjust his belt

Or nod

Or otherwise indicate his willingness to listen.

Maybe he’d offer phyllo pastries.

 

‘Like how do bad things happen,

and what fer? And why?’

 

And maybe God would stroke his beard

In a way that meant he wanted

A clarifying example.

 

‘Me wife, the skinny bitch,

left me for some hulking

tosser, neck like a tree truck,

prop’bly gots balls like grapes tho—

‘Scuse me yer Lordship…’

 

And perhaps God would wave

A massive golden hand

And give a slight shrug.

 

‘An’ she took the infink with her,

which I guess is pretty good,

as the brat was trouble,

an’ she wants me to pay alimony.

Price of spinach went up six cents

an’ I lost my best ship last week

during that storm I tol’ ya about.’

 

And maybe God would raise

An eyebrow inquisitively.

 

‘You know, the storm. I

prayed about it fer hours,

‘cause I heard yer good fer

things like that.

Walking on water

and calming waves an’ shit---

‘scuse my French.

Prayed and prayed

fer hours and ya didn’t

bloody get the message.

Say, what kind of god

are you anyway?’

 

And then God would frown,

An awesome frown.

And think

Awesome thoughts.

 

I am that I am.

 

‘No, no,’ Popeye would say,

graciously.

‘It’s yam.’

[Fweethawt]

Ackg-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga