After Eric’s helpful comments on my last post, I was able to revise this poem into another draft. Here is the result. Again, the formatting of the words is messed up, so I am not entirely pleased with the presentation, but here it is.
Gabriel and Michael exchanged
The cherubim blushed and
Bent ruffled plumage
Across their hundred busy eyes,
As the Son’s cry echoed, shrill
And ungainly, across the heavens.
They braced themselves for the mighty
Reply but heard
At last a reticent Gabriel flew
To the oaken door of the lapis room
Where the Father sat slumped
On a three-legged stool,
Gripping the world in this right hand
And a bottle of Laphroaig in his left.
A long, wilted sigh came from the
Linen curtains which rippled
Behind the silver throne as the Spirit
The Father did not even
Look up. “I heard,” was all.
Gabriel left as quietly
As he had come.
But as Gabriel shut the door,
The seraphim began to snort and
Paw the clouds, furiously pumping their
like hummingbirds that do not burn,
And the hundred eyes flit
Dizzily over the earth,
Searching for any small
But there was
save a short, raspy cough as
God shrugged and gave up