SNAPSHOT

Crksh, crksh crksh, crksh,

ewes, ewes, are you coming? Goats,

goats, are you coming? Khtch khtch, khtch,

khtch khtch, khtch, khtch khtch khtch. You coming, cow?

Haaash, haaash haaash, haaash—Noah,

six hundred summers young and lately

at the end of his tether: his God

is suffering separation anxiety and cursing

the earth He will purge, an arkload

of the chosen excepted. A righteous

man does as He tells him and no matter

how transparent His neurosis,

therapy is taboo and so the righteous one

summons the surprised animals,

clean and unclean. The fowls of the air

heed his nervous whistling and settle

on the tarred planks. Animals like to be

obliging, and play along with salvation

myths in the hope people will leave

them otherwise alone. And the rest

of the chosen, the extras? The gagged women,

what words do they exchange, in which tones?

The prophet’s sons, do they smile tenderly

at the sight of their overstrung father

or hope in secret that his heart

will fail and with it his rule? Noah,

on the edge of a nervous breakdown.