Mighty Glove

Short poem about being trapped.

Who, on earth, cares if all that life means
is a life span of hope and a sack of dried beans
that He told you would grow-- that was only a joke.
He'll watch you in shrieks, watch you silently choke.

In Heaven, who cares if all that death gives
is a sense of belonging-- that craving I missed
from the moment I woke to the moment I lay,
I spared not a moment of quickening delay...

To Hell, now! Who cares for an infected girl?
Watch my reactions to actions unfurl!
I'd hurt you for this if I knew what it was:
the sweaty enclosure of God's mighty glove.