Maybe it’s our growing population,

so taxing to heavens switchboard.

All those prayers for miracles

multiplying as humanity races around

the baby-making track.

We’ve worn Clarence and Michael ragged,

their wings tattered,

their halo bent and dented,

their trumpet rusty and out of tune.

Even the reinforcements sent,

that incognito-angel-army

has fallen exhausted on the battlefield.

So, God, wise beyond all,

calls to us to be todays miracle makers.

Like Wednesday night on NBC,

CHICAGO MED, FIRE and PD.

And shrinks, teachers, mommies, daddies,

even that stranger in front of you

on the ATM line

who, with a kind word and a smile

answers your weighty, unanswerable question.

An earthly host of humans here to help.

All we gotta do,

is pray, look, listen.