The Fall of Man

Though the doctrine that man is fallen explains

Why so much human behavior is disappointing,

It doesn’t explain why my real estate agent

Steered me away from the mansion that caught my eye,

With its fat commission for him,

To the plain-faced bungalow that fit my budget.

And though it explains why I think so little

About the people who suffer injustice

I’m not likely to suffer—those, for instance,

Held without trial for years in prisons

Around the world—it doesn’t explain

Why the reporter who’s been denied permission

To visit even one prison has written a book

That includes dozens of interviews with survivors.

If she’s just as fallen as I am, she’s been granted

Some kind of reprieve I haven’t been granted,

Though after I read her book I dreamed one night

I’d joined a fleet of rowboats setting out before dawn

From the Florida Keys to convince the guards

In our offshore prison that they had more choices

Than fallen creatures are thought to have.

I knew I was dreaming when a guard,

Still in pajamas, went scurrying barefoot

Down a corridor to unlock a cell door

And explain to the startled occupants how a fog

Inside him that he’d always assumed

Part of the coastline had suddenly lifted.

Even in my dream I remember wishing

They’d hurry to make their getaway

Before the fog blew in again.