by j.lewis

spend a little here, get a free mug
or there and get a discount
donate and there’s always a perk
supposed to make you feel less pain
about parting with your money
even when you won’t miss it
beyond the drive home

what if heaven played the game
of enticing you with baubles
if outside every church
there was a tally board
touting your deeds, updated
daily by the angels themselves
electronic ticker tape proclaiming
“You have enough credits for FREE Rewards!”
because heaven keeps good records

wouldn’t you want to add a wing
to that celestial mansion you’re building
no extra righteousness required because
you’ve got those sainthood credits
piling up in your user account
no rust, moths, or thieves to fear

smile at a stranger, clink-clink
volunteer at a shelter, cha-ching
sing in the choir and the celestial gold
spills into your coffers like
a jackpot at the slots in vegas

but maybe there’s a catch, you know,
that says you lose a coin for unkind thoughts
and gossip, and jealousy, and little lies
and walking past a beggar
(that one will cost you dearly)

the list is hellishly long, but then,
just seven deadly sins
could bankrupt you altogether
leave that mansion unfinished
and eternally empty