EDEN REVISITED

I saw the thing and I thought it wept.

Oh, there were no tears;

Things have no tears.

They cannot weep.

But, you see,

I remember how God had made it.

Such a lovely stream;

clean and cool

and singing through a living land

like the throbbing, mobile thing it was.

And I wept for it.

To see the filth and scum

sliding,

bumping,

brushing the rocks

like some obscene lover;

Leaving a gift of rancid fragrance

to mingle with the empty offerings

of my brothers.

Where are the leaping trout?

Where are the laughing Eve

and wondering Adam?

There.  Behind that tree.

See, he’s throwing another Pepsi Can

into the stream.

And she sprays Glade on the roses.

Is that the voice of God I hear?

“Adam, where are you?

I’m waiting to fellowship with you!”

But Adam has run for his city;

pulling his Coupe de Ville around him.

And Eve hides her nakedness

with Revlon, Max Factor

and Gucci prints.

And the stream flows on

with no one to watch it die

but God;

Who stands weeping on the bank,

waiting for His children.

c.2011 Donna Swanson