Charlton Heston Ascends Into Heaven

Now it's much too dangerous to stop what you've begun
When everyone in paradise carries a gun.
—Elvis Costello

Your fingers cold and dead now, noble Chuck,
but still they press the cross-hatched pistol grip
as God Himself comes down to see you in
(for such a worthy no mere saint will do).
"Your name?" God asks. You wink: "Just call me Chuck."
"Whatever." There's a pause, and then He says,
"Be ye Moses, Michelangelo, Ben Hur,
you've always done my work, so come you in.
But why not check your weapons at the gate?
There's no one here but angels and the dead,
and how could you imagine they'd be strapped?"

"Yeah, I'll give up my gun," you start to say,
"When they pry it from my cold—" Jehova smiles:
"That's just the case. So hand me up your Glock,
and drop the Uzi, and do I detect
a hold-out piece, that bulge there in your sock?"

You pause, an actor's take, and then you bare
your noble teeth at the Lord of All Things.
"What right have You," you say, "to take my guns?
I'll have you know this Heaven here ain't safe
unless we're packing heat. And I mean all
of us, concealed carry rules. What if a thief
should try some funny business while our backs
are turned? You never know." You shake your head.

And then, out of the corner of your eye
you spy St. Dismas, who was once a thief
and crucified with Christ on Golgotha.
Without a moment's thought you drop and turn
and thumb your safety down, and point the Glock
in his direction, draw a bead, and just
as you're about to fire a round or two
the Good Thief out of nowhere whips him out
a beautiful Beretta ten- or twelve-gauge
shotgun; over-under, very fine detailing,
and gives you both barrels of double-ought
buckshot right in the chest. It knocks
you from your feet and off the cloud, and as
you fall you cry out, "How? How did you get
the drop on me? I thought no saints went heeled!"

The Good Thief winks in God's direction, then
he answers: "Chuck, my lad, you have yourself
to blame. 'Concealed carry' worked so well
for you we all adopted it up here.
But since you tried to drill me you will have
to spend your afterlife in the Other Place
where weapons aren't allowed except for whips
and pitchforks and the like, but you yourself
won't ever get a permit, so to speak."
And with a final nod he blows the smoke
away across the barrels of his gun
and as you fall you see that all the clouds
which in their way make up the firmament
are only wisps of gunsmoke, like that dream
of Heaven you once had on the firing range.

© rob_said_that