Nothing in Heaven Functions as It Ought

Nothing in Heaven functions as it ought:

Peter's bifocals, blindly sat on, crack;

His gates lurch wide with the cackle of a cock,

Not turn with a hush of gold as Milton had thought;

Gangs of the slaughtered innocents keep huffing

The nimbus off the Venerable Bede

Like that of an old dandelion gone to seed;

And the beatific choir keep breaking up, coughing.

But Hell, sleek Hell, hath no freewheeling part:

None takes his own sweet time, none quickens pace.

Ask anyone, "How come you here, poor heart?"—

And he will slot a quarter through his face.

You'll hear an instant click, a tear will start

Imprinted with an abstract of his case.

X.J. Kennedy

From Cross Ties: Selected Poems (University of Georgia
Press, 1985), copyright (c) 1985 by X. J. Kennedy.  For
permission to reprint, transmit by internet, or for any other
purpose, address Curtis Brown Ltd., Ten Astor Place,
New York, NY 10003.