At the picnic at the end of the world,
there were volcanoes at our backs, a deluge at our feet,
and wailing and gnashing of teeth across the land.
There were no s'mores.
An angry God split the clouds and came down
on a bright silvery bolt of lightning,
grabbing Sinner Jim by his shirt collar and shaking him.
He dropped his barbecue tongs.
Battalions of imps and angels teemed in the park,
bringing the hounds of hell down upon
the wicked and the just alike.
They ignored the "no pets after 5pm" sign.
Then came a mighty roar, and the picnic park was washed
in flame, turning the hot dogs and hamburgers to cinders,
and burning every green thing down to the ground.
The city crew will not need to mow this week.
Let the judgement of the picnic park at the end of the world
be a stern lesson to you to change your ways;
turn off the computer, go out and do good.
God will get all up in your grille if you don't.
for Real Toads Weekend Challenge.
Photo by Kat Mortensen