A Flippant Conjecture About the Nature of Divine Mercy,
Or The Story of a Guy Who Was impossible to Like
No one knew why they called him, “Doc”
But he didn’t come across like a doctor
He had a devious-looking face, and he wore
The same suspiciously stained shorts
To the park all summer
He’d sit there, with his gigantic head thrust forward,
Mocking the pigeons, - And occasionally,
He’d get up and try to kick them
He thought they were “dirty little shits,”
And he wanted God to know
How he felt about them
One day, Doc stopped coming to the park
Because he got sick and died of cancer,
And he couldn’t be mean anymore
So, some pigeons hopped up
On the bench where Doc used to sit
And casually befouled the throne,
Not even acknowledging the significance
Of a villainous king’s inevitable demise
Still, no one can say for certain if Doc was sent to hell,
Even though the pigeons gave a shit about him
Only in the way they actually did.