Cameo

I felt that surge when
I saw God on Waverly,
that surge you might get
if you saw Brangelina or McDreamy
suddenly appear on the same streets
as the rest of us.
I thought Is that
really Him?
It can't be.
He’s much smaller than I thought He’d be.
Be cool. Pretend
you don’t notice Him.
It’s just God.

Should I say something?
I’ll regret it if I don’t say something.
He probably gets pestered
all the time. And what if He’s
an asshole? I could never
look at Him the same way.
It’d ruin all His stuff for me.
Fuck it. I deserve two minutes
of His time. I've seen all His
stuff. Least He can do is talk to me.

Men fluttered before Him, aiming
their cameras, flashes shining.
His face was impervious, blank behind
His great beard
of clouds (it's just like you'd expect)
and mirrored
sunglasses. His bodyguards
kept everyone away as He disappeared
into a big, black SUV, resealed
into a life normal people can only speculate
about, a life of anti-wrinkle creams,
champagne wishes and caviar dreams,
private jets, spas, Beyonce.

I told my friends
and they asked me what
He was like and what I said
and did I get a picture
or an autograph? I said He looked
like He didn’t want to be bothered,
that I couldn’t imagine
what His life was like,
having no one to relate to,
all that pressure,
all those people knowing who you are
and you don't know who they are.
Must be lonely to be God.
He deserves
His privacy
like everybody else.