The Poor Man's Leviticus 3 - Burnt Offerings

by Brett Rutherford 

3

When the earth was young,
the even-younger gods
came down upon
the human altars smiting.
To watch was to die,
as flame and lightning
cindered up to ash
the living victims.
The gods consumed us,
bones and all.

Later, their appetites,
assuaged with human flattery,
demanded hecatombs
of cattle, sheep, and goats,
oxen piled up and laced
with a delicate frill of doves.
(In lean times, they were offered less.)

To watch was to die,
or so the priests maintained,
but there no longer came
the forked-down lightning,
nor did the thunder rend
the heavens at each god-feast.

Why did the priests now demand
a tithe of timber, and casks
of ever-more-flammable oil?

Why were the temple doors barred
after the slaughtered ox
no longer bled or trembled?
Why did the limp pile
of lambs and turtledoves
just lie there, unbitten
if those above were hungry?

Don’t peek, the priests would say.
Our kinder Lord
     wants only the entrails
anyway. Some days
the mere scent of a burning ox
suffices. Are we not blessed?

Don’t peek, the poor are told
(for they are easily agitated),
as the priests and their families
enjoy their roast-beef dinners.
It is hard work, they insist
to keep the smiting heavens up
and about their heavenly business,
and to leave us poor sinners alone.