In the beginning, God's slinky critter
left off buffing its flawless scales,
wrapped itself around the tree,
and flashed its best civil service grin.
Lonely Eve, innocent and weak-kneed
with all the attention, snatched
the gleaming proffered fruit
from the enticing dangle of its sinewy branch,
and left behind a bleeding stem...
(The Starship Monitors,
their sensitive instruments finely tuned
to earthly pain, receive the tiny scream
of that violated bough as a digital signal.)
Naked Adam, wearing the perpetual boyhood
of his immortality like a veneer of sandlot dust,
was easy meat for the jiggle that began
with the motion of Eve’s juice-sucking lips
and rippled all the way down
to her naked, turf-clutching toes.
She handed Adam that fatal harvest
and he bit into it, deep.
It was then that Adam heard
what he at first perceived as huge trees walking,
crashing across the peace of the garden.
Adam next learned that clouds can howl and roar,
that their voices are intelligible and awesome.
Clutching fast the fabulous fruit, terrified Adam ran
and he ran as the heavens flashed and rang
and fiery wheels with razor rims
assailed and seared his weeping eyes :
Oh, how immortal Adam then longed to die…
(The Starship Monitors, observing this,
now noted in the astral log: “The Subject is completely fucked.”)
And so he was.
But by the time tufted Eve had flinched her lap,
popped him out, rolled him down off of her
padded frame and growled, ‘Git a job,’
Adam was fully awake
to the fact that the fallen fruit
still clutched in his mojo’d hand
was withered, rotten, and infested
with maggots: starkly symbolic
of Adam’s career to-date…
(On the Star Ship bridge,
one Monitoring Entity interfaced with the other
to input the datum, ‘Bingo, Jack! You owe me lunch.’)