.
Poor Darwin,
forever dissed by People-of-the-Book,
rummaged through bins of bones
flinging one after another
over his shoulder
looking for a missing link
Femurs and fibulas went flying,
knuckles and kneecaps rained,
disks –the pride of vertebrates–
hit walls and ricocheted like pucks
slap-shot by bloodthirsty Bruins
……………………………………
The thud of ulnas and clavicles
drummed rhythms on wallboard as they hit.
They landed here and there in the dusty landscape
to be buried again in the sands of time,
to be found by future anthropologists,
and once more dismissed —no matter what,
by latter-day people-of-The-Book
It’s gotta be here somewhere, said
Charles, everything else so elegantly fits
Meanwhile, at a bin to Darwin’s right
marked Creation, Myths, and Miracles
Reverend Pat dug in too
……………………
He tossed a leather-bound edition
of the Epic of Gilgamesh
onto a heap in the corner which
nudged a volume of the Enuma Elish
that slid to the floor and settled
beside a story of how a flower
grew from Vishnu’s navel
……………………
Drivel, said Pat, junk
—can’t hold a candle to a talking snake
……………………
He’d been hoping for a scrap
of Genesis notarized by God
but found only a sheepskin playbill
inscribed Moses and the Four Evangelists–
doowa, doowa
……………………
Good enough for me, Pat sighed,
and ducked as the skull of a chimp
sailed by
………………
Jim Culleny; May 13, 2007
……………….
……………….
Blink 