Poetry spam

[capri0mni]

(Published in The Maverick Poets 1988)
Ron Koertge

LILITH

She did not graze on all fours but
wrapped her arms and legs around Adam
and said, "Oh, Daddy! it feels so good!"
and he promised a little place of
her own in Manhattan.

God saw that he had made a mistake
and put him to sleep, and wiped his brain
smooth as a grape and tried again with
Eve

who lay flat on her back, arms and
legs extended as if she had fallen from
a tree. As Adam tried, she talked out
loud, "So much to do, many animals
to name, so much adoration to give
Him."

Adam rolled off her, sat up holding his
side. "It hurts," he said.
What does?"
"Here."
"That's called a rib."
"No. Above that."
"Your heart. I've only been here ten
minutes, and already I know ever so much
more than you."
"I think it's broken."
"Oh, pooh. Everything's wonderful and
all you do is complain. You should be
glad you're not an insurance salesman."

Adam had to admit she was right, yet
what was that smell of crushed fern,
such heat disguised as words, a vision:
lovely toes pointing toward the sun.

"Sorrow," he said. "I feel sorrow."
"You eat too fast," said Eve. "It's gas."