Out of fry-pan, into fire?
Father, what do you require?
Give us guidance, Abba, dear!
End commercials; end our fear.

Shall we, mayhaps, ban the squalor?
Kick the stands down, bust the stall? Or,
What’s this here by the bodegas?
Slot machines? Oi! It’s Las Vegas!

Fate, or chance, is most unruly.
Something is amiss, for truly,
This is not the land we prayed for,
Left the Pharaoh’s big parade for!

Abba, father, once again!
If we’re your hand-chosen men,
Guide us home to Paradise.
Sure. And at a low, low price!

_~
My apologies for how this turned out. I just let the poems form themselves. Any resemblance to any well known stories or history is really just a coincidence; these people aren’t those people. I am sorry.

Next set for yon weary traveler: Dandelion, Compassion, Epoxy