Confounded Attack - A Poem

Stan was smacked in the head with a meteorite. 
But by the time it struck his temple it had disintegrated to barely the size of a grain of sand.
And left a mark barely red enough for people to think he had a pimple.
And it fetched a market rate of barely enough money to buy a hamburger, let alone retire on. 
Therefore despite his desperate prayer being answered to its exact request.
Stan still had no excuse to get out of work on stock take day.
And another of gods children was needlessly lost from the flock, storming off with an internal monologue of scorn and contempt.
Yet Peter down the hall, heading up Division Seventeen of prayer answering, STILL kept his job.
He really is a nice dude that God.
Way too fucking nice. 

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