It was the Eighth Day, the day after,
small undeveloped brains
began to question.
Pigs were still good to eat
but hard to catch.
The stone axe and the throwing stick
were ideal for nothing much, but sufficed
to make the little men constantly
on the edge of famine.
Some thought that a man in the sky
would protect them,
some blamed that same man.
Questions multiplied
who, what, when?
Mankind fell forward while remaining backward.
Dogs were adopted to keep other dogs out.
Wolves ate the dog bones
leftover after the little men had left
for other parts;
the land hated their footprints
but kept them alive
for the sake of the dogs.
Many questioned the meaning
of this and that -
a sulky silence dripped
out of their eyes and noses.
The time for questions was over,
they began to answer and explain
all things,
while few knew anything at all.
On the Ninth Day
they rested deeply
and have yet to awaken.
Categories:
throwing stick, poetry,
Form: Free verse