Which Way to Heaven?

I wonder if

the trip up to Heaven

starts at the bottom

of a glass elevator

we ride

first passing all the

souls who didn’t go there

starting at the bottom-most floor

with the Devil and Hitler

or whether we never waste

a second on that kind of despair

and go straight

for the wings and the gown

and scooch into the choir and

start singing with the voice

we always wanted but never had

because there’s so much joy

it has to come out in song

like those morning birds that

sit on a branch and

sing solos, straining Heavenward

because they

just can’t contain themselves

for the shivers of praise

that overtake them