Creationist Musings

People, I’m told, were made perfect,
by God, his holy self.
And in his image he did make us,
pink and brown silly little elves.
And so if he and I are so similar,
then he must, like I
drop his pants once in a while
and let the brown ones slip by.
I shit in the morning,
sometimes the afternoon,
but God’s scale must be different
when he busts out his full moon.
Mine splash in the water,
and poof they’re gone.
His probably have more impact,
some bad Mexican, and you’ve got Armageddon.