by Joe DeMarco
It snowed in Baghdad yesterday;
The Whales will have to find
Somewhere else to go;
The Islands are SOLD OUT.
The traffic in the sky
Is going to get worse;
As the Earth floods again,
The Lost City of New Orleans comes to mind.
Noah looked out his window,
And it was unseasonably warm,
Not a cloud in the sky.
He decided to go fishing,
But when he got to the ocean
They told him it was CLOSED for renovations.
The gods looked up from
Their studio apartment in the ghetto.
"He doesn't realize the flood
Will come from below,"
One of them says, which is not important.
“The land named by RED which was inappropriately christened
For one thing it is not, GREEN
Is the stage it will take place on.”
"The people want to know WHEN?" the God of Traffic asks.
"Tell them, sooner than you think,"
Says the God of Money,
Who knows death is imminent.
The Almighty Dollar goes home,
And takes a bath with a bread maker,
As Noah tries to resurrect
A miniature version of his ark inside a bottle of ABSOLUT.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Joseph DeMarco was born in New York City; he grew up in Buffalo, NY. He has taught seventh grade on the island of Oahu, Hawaii for the last ten years. He is the author of the novels Plague of the Invigilare, The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins of Emir Abdullah-Harazins, At Play in the Killing Fields, Blind Savior, False Prophet, and Vegans Are Tastier. He is currently working on several new projects.
Last updated November 18, 2011