The woman talking with us after exercise class
Repeats the lament that it’s not easy getting old
Surprising me with her comeback to my cliché
When I replied that it’s better than the alternative.
Not always, she said, the alternative may be welcome
When you know where you’re going
Implying she thinks she’s going to heaven
Perhaps looking to me to echo her back.
Well, I know where I’m going for sure
We’ll all reassemble in a place called oblivion
Except we won’t exist anymore as individuals
Just the stuff we all are made of getting recycled.
This is the no nonsense future she would deny
As if repeating a prayer will make it not so
Paying her tithe to hear the promise of an afterlife
Her reward for compliance with what she is told.
I forget how the feudal superstitions still hold sway for
some
Since I never join in their ritual gatherings to worship
Reciting the anachronistic language of lords
Intoning belief in their deity and obeisance to a book.
And who am I to judge what’s the harm in it you may ask
How does this figurative opiate compare to the real thing
When the self-righteous justify unholy wars against the
infidels
Who do not adhere to their version of ignorant dogma.
And yet I say nothing to her, keeping my distance
Having no desire to try to persuade her otherwise
Knowing the way that humans are susceptible to credulity
Keeping the faith against all evidence of false tenets.
I take comfort in the surveys reporting declining attendance
Though the withdrawal is passive and seldom political
And the religious right holds far too much power
Still I wish all churches would just wither
away.
