Judgement day poem by David Michael Jackson
This way please.
The light had been so bright
when he entered the room.
He could smell a hint of sulphur
and a faint smell of lavender.
The receptionist was typing
on an old typewriter,
and an ancient dot matrix printer
made a sound like gravel
falling on concrete
as paper spewed out.
She paused and pulled the sheet
from the machine,
laid it in front of me,
“Sign here.”
The form had headings,
sins admitted,
sins denied,
lies,
arguments won,
arguments lost,
arguments lost on purpose,
smiles,
frowns,
thankyous,
forgives,
praises.
I signed.
The pen made a scratching
sound on the paper.
The printer spit out duplicates.
She tore the top one off,
handed it to me,
“Door Number Two.”
Judgement day poem…..October 2019….David Michael Jackson
