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By Claire Hermann

God separated the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch.
Once there was morning and evening,
but now someone has torn the heart out of a mountain,
and they’re burning it for me.

God gave every green and growing thing,
every seed and every fruiting tree,
to all the beasts and birds for food,
but my desire sets the market price.
The patents are in my name.

If Noah had known what I know
about ventilated barns and gestation crates
he could have fit more than two of every animal in that ark.
He could have made them forget
they were animals at all.

I surveyed creation. I saw that it was profitable.
My ads fall from satellites like doves.
You’d be surprised what I can turn into a weapon.
You’d be surprised how many people
will wave my flag as they die.

God divided the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch, a patent, a nation, a bomb,
I have mountains to burn and rivers to dye red and gray.
The old world has passed away. This is my new heaven and new earth.
Let all the people say “Amen.”

Added: Friday, August 25, 2017  /  Used with permission.
Claire Hermann

Claire Hermann's work has appeared in such publications as Borderlands: Texas Poetry Journal, Lines + Stars, Southern Women's Poetry Review, and Prime Number and was selected as a finalist for the North Carolina Poet Laureate’s Award. She has a weakness for cats, farmers markets, foggy mornings, and justice.

Other poems by this author