I Can't Believe

A poem by Alan Storkey

So you believe no God created this,

no great design, but just a happenstance,

not personal, but rather hit or miss,

not even aim, but just a primal dance

of stupid chemicals. Yet even they

need pre-constructing into atom, quark,

from which non-aiming hits, you say,

the universe was made. Shots in the dark,

no guns, no big N "Nature" doing things,

sand with IQ (but not computer chips)

has done it all. The cosmic order springs

from elementary particles with slips.

I can't believe - unless the quarks have phones

and don't pay extra for more distant zones.