"I'm running out of time," God says.
He and the snake sit
just outside the garden gate.
"You assured me
you'd have them juicing that fruit
by week's end."

"Sorry, boss.
Seems the simple life suits them."
The snake's head bobs and sways as he talks.
"Sssatisfied.."

What he didn't say is:
he likes these first folks,
admires their cheerful disregard
for the dangerous tree
looming only yards
from their grassy shelter.

God scowls,
"Think of something.
I've got other planets to populate."

"Sssans me, please,"
hisses the snake,
too low for God to hear.
He likes the status quo,
the silence,
the easy indulgence of the senses,
the absence of guile.
"Send me in once more;
I'll sssee what I can do."

He slithers between the bars,
disappears into the secretive weeds,
intending, this time,
to tell the truth:
"A snare,
seduction,
reverse psssychology."

So the three of them move east
(well away from the tree,
leaving its fruit to the bats, birds and badgers),
to a peaceful life,
nestled in a vast meadow
of pale-blue and lavendar innocense.

That world was a kinder one than thisss…

Text and image © 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.