With force enough he does that other in?
Think now. Before Cain played the bloody brute
No one had demonstrated death as yet.
This doctrine, then, is murderous to refute:
That murder is an impulse man first met
When his teeth met inside that juicy fruit.
What's homicide? A thing your father ate.
God said to Noah: "Listen, er patriarch.
You and your sons, each take his little hatchet,
Lop wood enough to build yourselves an ark
To these specifications. Roof and thatch it
Like Porto de Ripetta ferry. Mark
Me well now. Chase each make of beast and catch it.
And catch a male or female that will match it.
Then with your victuals, zoo and wives, embark.
A flood is going to test your wooden walls,
A world's end deluge. Tivoli waterfalls
Will seem an arc of piss in a urinal.
Ride it until you sight a rainbow. Then
Jump in the mud and make things grow again
Till the next world's end. (That one will be final.)"
The Ark 2
Elephants, fleas, cows, lions, sheep, wolves, hares,
Foxes and flies, roosters and stags and stallions,
Mice by platoons and rabbits by battalions,
Donkeys and pigs and bugs, monkeys and mares.
Meat by the ton, cheese, pasta, worms, figs, pears,
Maize, clover, hay, whey, pigswill, skilly, scallions,
Bones, birdseed, bran, melons like golden galleons,
Minced heart for owls and honey for the bears:
These and much more poor Noah stowed in the boat
That God made airtight, cosy, close and dark.
A year and more this barnyard was afloat,
Heady with gorgonzola, goat and skunk.
How did he cope, our blessed patriarch?
Ask him. He may respond by getting drunk.
Drunk, yes. Near his palazzo, safe on shore,
Noah planted vines and fondly watched them sprout,
And when he saw the luscious grapes fill out
(One bunch weighed ten or twenty pounds, or more),
He crushed the juice in ferment, let it pour
Down the red lane, and gave a toper's shout:
"It's good, it's fucking good!" His drunken bout
First made him high and, after, hit the floor.
That was strong stuff, he was not used to it.
Like all us drunkards, snoring at the sun,
He lay as flat as a five-lira bit.
But – shame – our patriarch had no breeches on
And – but I'd better quote you Holy Writ -.
"Displayed his balls and prick to everyone."
Age
If it is true, as the priests say it is,
That every ancient patriarch and prophet
Took a long time for old age to kill off (it
Was, in some cases, nine damned centuries),
They must have been damned short of maladies -
No stone, hard chancre, or bronchitic cough. It
Could be they postponed their trip to Tophet
With secrets still unsold in pharmacies.
Such agelessness would wreck our modern age.
That lad, see, fifty years in his high chair,
A hundred more at school, would choke with rage
(Himself a dad now, in or out of matrimony)
Waiting for dad to die and bless his heir,
Trying to run up bills against his patrimony.
"We'd like to touch the stars," they cried, and, after,
"We've got to touch the stars. But how?" An able-
Brained bastard told them: "Build the Tower of Babel.
Start now, get moving. Dig holes, sink a shaft. A-
Rise, arouse, raise rafter after rafter,
Get bricks, sand, limestone, scaffolding and cable.
I'm clerk of works, fetch me a chair and table."
God meanwhile well-nigh pissed himself with laughter.
They'd just got level with the Pope's top floor
When something in their mouths began to give:
They couldn't talk Italian any more.
The project died in this linguistic slaughter.
Thus, if a man said: "Pass us that there sieve,"
His mate would hand him up a pail of water.
Lot 1
Two strangers, both with staffs, but one a bit
Lame from the journey, weary but still wary.
Came at the holy hour of the Hail Mary
(I love anachronising Holy Writ)
Looking for lodgings. Lot, who had just lit
His lamp, saw them, called them and said: "You're very
Welcome here." They smiled: "Ah, a good fairy.
Such kindness. You'll be amply paid for it."
These two were angels. The buggers of Gomorrah,
Hearing of their arrival, knew it not,
Else all their hair would have stood up in horror.
Their pricks stood up instead. They yelled out: "You
Selfish unsodomite, let's have them, Lot.
You don't require their arses, and we do."
The angels now announced themselves to Lot
And said "This town must suffer for its fault.
No rooftop, cavern, hole or nether vault
Will hide them when the flames leap high and hot.
You and your family leave now. Do not halt
And look back down Longara Road. Do not,
We say again." But hardly had they got
Away when Lot's wife turned and turned to salt.
Ah, woman, cursed by curiosity.
If all of our Italian women could
So change, as by that precedent they should,
They'd soon destroy the salt monopoly
And bring the price down, though of course we would
Be forced to live on salt and sodomy.
Lot 3
God, then, assumed the office of a cook
And baked the Sodomites like salmon trout.
Only the family of Lot got out,
Though his wife suffered for that backward look.
They camped near Zoar, in a stony nook.
Lot's daughters, starved of love, began to pout,
Seeing no sign of penises about,
And, driven by a fleshly need, forsook
Propriety. Here at least was their father.
They gave him wine with a well-salted pasty.
When he was drunk they fucked him to a lather,
Not finding this unnatural or nasty.
No fire rained down. It seems that God is rather
Inclined to incest but hates pederasty.
The Bible, sometimes called the Jewish Chronicle,
Says, midway between Noah's and Aaron's ark,
That Abraham played the grand old patriarch
And sacrificed to God, with fine parsonical
Language that all that blood made sound ironical.
He took a donkey from the donkey-park
(Chewing up chicory and grass in stark
Lordly disdain, as if it wore a monocle)
And called to Isaac: "Pack the bags and load
This ass here, get the boy to bring a nice
Sharp axe, then kiss your mother on the cheek.
Bring coats and hats, we're going to take the road.
The blessed Lord requires a sacrifice.
The time has come to teach you the technique."
Abraham 2
They ate, while day was cooking in the east,
Some breakfast. When their journey had begun,
Abraham led them in an orison
That lasted for a hundred miles at least.
Then the old swine or, if you wish, old priest
Said: "We've arrived. Shoulder that burden, son.
And as for you -" (meaning the other one)
"- Wait here. You too," he told his fellow-beast.
They started climbing. Halfway through their climb,
Isaac said: "Where's your victim wandered to?"
"Wait," said his father. "All in God's good time."
They reached the top, where knife-edged breezes blew,