The Day I Meet Saint Peter

The day I meet Saint Peter, I’d like to wear a suit. My father told me that it’s good to make a positive first impression. Anyways, when I get there in my suit, Saint Peter will look down from the book he’s holding, as if to say, “What the hell are you doing here?” (Although I’m quite certain that it’ll be written down in the book already, so the look will be mainly for affect, and possibly for personal amusement, depending on Saint Peter’s disposition)
“I’d like to enter heaven,” I’ll say appositively. And Saint Peter will stare at me the way my mother did when I knew that I was screwed. What happens next will be the recitation of a much thought over, ever ready statement manufactured for just this occasion.
“Dear Saint Peter,” I will state from the words I clearly see in my head, “it wasn’t all my fault. There were a lot of things that you may not be aware of, that should have happened, that, due to no one’s fault in particular, were omitted from my life. You see,” I’ll continue, “I should have been born a prince from one of those oil rich countries. That way I would have a fortune to give away. My parents should have been saints themselves, or at least laymen with the solemn understanding that my moral and ethical upbringing was to be the first and foremost reason for their having been created. This would have given me the natural inclination towards saintliness.”
Saint Peter’s eyes will bore, and I’m pretty sure I’ll gulp. “Lastly, I should have been made aware of the serious consequences for transgressions against brothers, stupid people, and small rodents from different countries I’ve never heard of that were killed so that my computer could be made for three cents cheaper using an element only found where those small rodents bred… before they went extinct.” I’m pretty sure he’ll still be staring, if he’s anything like my parents.
“Oh well,” I’ll tell myself, crumpling up my mental notes. “What the hell.”
“Dear Saint Peter,” I’ll start again, “it’s quite frankly not my fault that God didn’t make me omnipotent like he was, and to be blunt, my brother had those wallups coming, the stupid people are too stupid to know that I screwed them anyways, and I LIKE CHEAP COMPUTERS. SO THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR WASTING MY TIME, I THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST GO TO HELL YOURSELF AND KISS MY BALD, FAT WHITE ASS!” I may add, “Thank you sincerely for your time, but I can’t be certain as of yet. I am certain, however, that very soon thereafter, I’ll need a lawyer to argue my case before the Appeals Board, and from where I’ll be, they shouldn’t be very hard to find.
Stupid rodents…

Andrew Venegas
San Jose
SJSU
poetry