Wrapped in johnny coats we sit,
not on clouds, but harp-less, harmless,
on uncomfortable chairs, waiting.
Soon enough someone will come and call
our names, or waggle an inviting finger,
or raise a beckoning eyebrow, or just smile.
The women are naked from the waist up
beneath their coats.
They are red-breasted like robins,
with scars and lines that draw route maps
and contours across their breasts,
highroads for the rays to travel.
The men are naked from the waist down,
legs crossed, teeth gritted, grim-faced
holding on to their gathering waters …
and all of us, sitting here, waiting …
Will it be like this on Judgment Day,
sheep and goats herded together
waiting for the signal that sends us
left or right, to heaven or hell?