He Should Not See Death

old enoch goggleyed and goatbearded strolling with a jealous god under a silksilver sun beneath a stonewashed cotton sky stopped sighed tugged at his rusty sackcloth toga trailed a barebrown caloused big toe through the ochre coloured sand stung a split nail on a surprised scorpion tail and solemnly suggested by way of a pleasant stutter i know you i know you lord i know you well enough by now to know when something is eating at you the lord your god coughed chorally cleared his throat in the note of cee felt in his clotted cream cloak for something came out empty handed tried twice tried thrice then clutched a nonchalantly folded handkerchief chased the holy perspiration halfheartedly around the temple of his whitewhiskered features with its fine ivory linen then threw the wet rag absentmindedly into the yellowing dust at his tanned manicured heel i know i know it is a habit a bad one but habits are hard to break particularly the bad ones yahew nodded his licey leonine head in a languid yep but came there answer no