In the garden,
of course,
there was Adam and Eve.
You’ll remember
that they were naked
because nudity is
memorable.

No.
In the garden
there was Adam.
And he was alone,
he was always alone,
singing and stroking himself
whenever he damn well felt like.
And he was happy.

Wait. No. In the garden
Eve was a tree, an
agriculture trend, a
pomegranate or a grapevine.
She wore lip gloss and heels
and dreamed of Los Angeles.

Forget the garden.
In the desert, there was Adam and Eve and they were alcoholics because there’s nothing else to do in the desert but drink. And they loved wine. Cheap, red wine.

And Adam, with the hole in his side where a rib used to be,
and Eve, newly formed and still sore from all the fucking,
sat and watched the desert sky bloom strawberry red
and called each other sunset.
The turning sky, they named honey and
of this they were not ashamed.

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