God packed his bags and went away On holiday and forgot to turn Off the electricity and gas And feed the cat or tell the milkman And newspaper boy just exactly When he would be getting back. Now the garden’s grown derelict And the roof’s caving in And the drains are blocked with leaves And most rooms are vandalised. All that remains are the ghostly Echoes of distant days. A woman from the local council Rang God's private mobile number And was greeted with a message Saying how sorry he was at being Unable to take her call right then, But please to ring back later. A board of many colours stands Beside the gate of the ill-starred house: It tells of a townhouse cluster -Georgian, yet state-of-the-art - That will rise in its place with speed To cater to everyone's need.(Written Durban C 2004)