The April 16th poem is about the god of low self-esteem. For April 17th, a haiku-like thingie.
Abosh, the god of low self-esteem, hates his name.
The most famous legend concerning him tells how he spied
Princess Zephyr, loveliest of women,
strolling in a garden, and at once lost
his immortal heart to her. Disguised
as a young man, he descended
and stood around, pretended to study the roses,
and hoped she would notice him. She didn’t.
Hence, Abosh is the patron of secret loves–
and of the openly cheated-on, but that’s another story.
His altar is a doormat, where followers leave
second-hand clothes, leftovers, whatever
they were getting rid of anyway.
Hymns and prayers make him fidget:
he already feels more like a fraud
than a god. His devotees strike their heads
and chant “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
They hope, after death, for a spot
somewhere near Paradise, where now and then
they might smell the nectar and overhear
the blessed rejoice–
if that’s not too much trouble.
old man’s funeral.
a balloon in the rafters
says “Happy Birthday!”