Glenn Wright

Disembodied

How did I live most of my earthly existence
not knowing that in the heavenly afterlife
I was going to be burdened with a body?

Somehow I thought that once the reaper came
and disconnected your soul from its fleshly wrapper,
you were done with all that carnal nonsense.

No more stubbed toes, heartburn, or flatulence,
no more diets, workouts, or bad breath,
bad hair days, dandruff, zits, colds, flu, or COVID.

I imagined my post-mortem self as an angel,
glowing and transparent, or as an orb
of energy floating free among the stars.

My priest showed me where, in the Catechism,
in paragraph nine ninety seven, they spell it out.
Of course our new, improved bodies are glorified,

whatever that means. It sounds like an example
of clever salesmanship, like when the mechanic
tells you the car you totaled will be like new.

I get it that the damned should have a body.
The torturing demons need something to hurt
with flaming pitchforks and boiling acid baths.

I wouldn’t even miss sex or wine or backrubs.
I’ll trade all that to lose this miserable carcass.
But I guess heaven will be better than the alternative.