On the 21st of December 2012, if it is still on, we’re going to an end-of-days party. Thinking of those misusing various modes of religion to profit from people’s fears, this End-of-Days archbishop’s soliloquy sprang as it were to mind then to computer.

I like the heft and sounds of ‘protoplasm’.
The fact few ken its meaning just endears
itself to us who earn food from religion.

When churches churl and minor prelates spasm
it is good we can fall back upon our rears
and public fears and take as alms a pigeon

that Cook roasts for us, giving its phantasm
to God above who loves a dove and cheers
us on, as smearing lips with grease and smidgen

of toasty bird, we chase crowds to the chasm
of the End of Days. We profit from their fears
and substitute for reasoning a pidgin

language blending piety, sarcasm
and awe for a made-up deity who repairs
to a made-up sanctuary playing chicken.