by Wayne Scheer
I'm not saying I believe the folks who claim the world will end
May 21, 2011,
But I'm not waiting until tomorrow to write this poem.
My prophet is Woody Allen.
He said he doesn't believe in the afterlife,
But he's packing a change of underwear
Just in case.
So what's supposed to happen tomorrow?
If I'm properly repentant
I go to Never Never Land
Where I attend a meet-and greet with
God Almighty;
Otherwise,
I spend eternity repeating, "Hot enough for ya" to
Hitler and bin Laden.
But one of the believers,
Who claims he's absolutely certain of the date,
Also says if he's still here on May 22,
"That means I wasn't saved."
Hey, no fair hedging your bet.
It's Heaven or Hell, buster.
But wait. Hedging your bet
Is what Woody Allen believes.
And I believe in Woody.
So I'm going to stop writing silly poems
And do my laundry.
Wayne Scheer has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net.
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