THE END OF THE ROAD


THE END OF THE ROAD


When I first hear that
God is drinking beer
somewhere on a beach
in San Diego

I shrug it off
having met more than enough
invincible spirits over
the last four years to
keep me quite busy
thank you amen

Then I meet
one of His angels

her hair as swirly long as
these dying days of summer
eyes as wide and innocent
as a fresh glazed donut

and wearing that
effortless smile
really found only here
on the lazy edge of
the American Dream

on a late afternoon of
Southern California gold
so bright and clean that
it washed the road from
my face

having run out of freeway
finding myself once again
standing upon the shores
that I had left behind
a million songs ago

I offer her an apple
from my dwindling stocks
so she offers to lead me
to a concrete fire ring

out on the sand between
high-water and boardwalk
early smoke rising from
piled up crates and debris

around which lounges
a dozen or so partiers
generally at least as
young as yours truly

three of them rolling
a small stash of joints
so skillfully that
it seemed a shame to
see them go up in smoke

while two teenage girls
sisters to look at them
wind-dance the folds of
faded peasant skirts

for a derelict cowboy
wearing a pewter cross and
strumming something or other
by the Eagles on a guitar
with only five strings

Oceanside of the fire ring
his back to the surf and
the occasional gust of sand
a man of maybe thirty-five

his ruddy face framed
by a thin blonde mane
tangling out everywhere
from high on his forehead

sits on a white beach towel
with an empty beer can
into which he taps
the last of a cigarette

He smiles at our approach
waving a peace sign with
the butt between his fingers

I stand across
the ring from him  

"So they tell me you're God"

"Shhh...it's supposed to be a secret"

I let myself collapse
my pack still on to give
my back a place to land
and for awhile we share
our food and fun in silence

Finally God and I
exchange names
He likes Sparrow 
says his is Ed

"You see I've been hanging out at
this beach for about nine years now
and everyone pretty much knows me
so I try to keep things sorta cool

"like no dealing no messing with speed
smile at the cops on off-road detail
pick up our trash before we go home
don't let the fire get out of hand

"and folks tend to hang where I do
so one day last spring a few of
the faithful here were tripping
on some really boss acid..."

"I saw him with a halo of sunshine
that turned back a hurricane..."
interrupts the woman who had
brought me here

"...it was Morningdew's acid...
so anyway after the high wore off
they up and elected me God and
it's pretty much been that way
ever since"

"So how do you like the job?"

"I can dig the hours"

"Do you have supernatural powers?"

"I guess so
people keep
bringing me beer"

"The Lord will provide"
praises Cowboy

"She does at that"
I bowed in prayer

God sort of grins
studying my pentacle
and the silver goblet
sticking out of my pack
and a couple other things
that not even I noticed
with a look older than
the days before I knew how
to count to five and pray

"Yea I've heard of you folks
white witchcraft right?"

"We call it Wicca"

By now the others have begun
a cacophony of holy praise

"Hey isn't Stevie Nicks..."

"...Morrison I heard..."

"I count thirteen people here..."

"Cool let's put on some horns
and leaves and go do it..."

"...I got a sword at home..."

"Hey Sparrow you want a tab..."

With a glance my way
worthy of the most subtle
of mages

Ed raises his hands to
quiet the growing crowd

and with great effort
I rise to my feet
and offer up my
best imitation of a
Wise Old Witch's voice

"Morningdew I thank you for your
kind offer of psychedelic visions
but long ago I took a strict vow
to seek my Lady and Lord not in
the miracles of modern chemistry

but in the everyday comin' at us
miracles of Mother Earth and
Daddy Desert and Old Man River
and Our Lady of Moon and Tide

and since my tribe does keep
a low profile and in deference
to Mister God's arcane knowledge
of local law enforcement customs

instead of putting on a Sabbat
which might distract the surfers
if someone will just hand me
another beer and pass around that
bag of oatmeal raisin cookies

I will join you all in making
the best of offerings to
celebrate the best of times 
among the best of company as
the best of all Gods gives us
prophecies of long and happy lives"

Then I sit down
for a very long time

And so
from cool blankets
and cooling sands
we sing songs and
guzzle libations to
a god of our own making

while from the west
Old Red-Eye dips low
to drink the salt of
his evening meal and

the wind of day's ending
sweeps over us like wine
as the tide washes in
from the Peaceful Sea
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