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Adam

Eden is boring.
Nothing explodes.
There are no trains to fall off the tracks.
And Adam finds himself
With something missing.
Comic books? Broadband? Balsamic vinegar?
Pachinko? Razor blades? Plasma TV?
He's aware of an itch
And scratching
Has yet to be invented.
He eyes the fruit,
The One Forbidden Thing.
"Not yet," says the serpent,
Who's seen the script.
But Adam is engineered for impatience:
Quests, missions, objectives,
Grails unholy or otherwise.
"Out!" says the angel.
And Adam shrugs,
Loses the core,
Strides to the open gate.
Something on two legs
Is running after him.

Copyright © 2004 Hugh Cook

Picture of front cover of ARC OF LIGHT poetry collection by Hugh Cook.

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