When Adam was born

In God’s image, formed from dust

Of some half million years, adorned

With consciousness, he vegetated

 

Cocooned, enwombed millenniums

In undefined loneliness

Ripe but unplucked, putting it mildly,

Awkward in gawkiness.

 

Could he know he was missing something

With no one there to whisper

Sweet bedtime tales of his and her

Of pre-creation activity?

 

Awesome in his simplicity

He fought lions with bare hand

Tamed the wild and cleared the land.

He felled trees by uprooting them

 

In thoughtless spontaneity,

Won wars with mere thrown stones

A hero unsung and unattached

No epics for offspring still unhatched.

 

He'd have been bored if he'd known better

But unadulterated

As he was, non-creative joys

Were his lot; just one of the boys.

 

Perhaps in sadness he sensed his loss

Poor Adam, banned in Eden

No sweating brow, no fig leaf fashion

No heir apparent to pass on.

 

On the other hand, no bickering,

No workday routine,

No unpaid bills, no mother-in-law

No baby diapers, no sleepless nights.

 

One day while uprooting useless trees

He chanced on hallowed ground

An orchard God lovingly tended

The fence left unfortunately unmended.

 

No use the sign "No Trespassing"

Since no one could read, it stayed unread.

"I should have thought of that," God said

As from His loge cloud He watched, ringside.

 

One tree especially glistened bright

The apple tree ripening

Weighted in overabundance

Asking for trouble, absolutely enticing.

 

Round, red, luscious, untouched,

Inviting, open-branched,

Puckered up with cute know-the-score looks.

Libidinal.  Adam was incensed.

 

He grabbed the tree around the trunk

And uprooted it.

Such temptation is visceral sin

Irregular bowel movement, indigestion.

 

God was too proud to show His surprise.

The ringside arena

Roared in ethereal fits of laughter

A source of mirth forever after.

 

Aware that all were looking on

In righteous hilarity,

God uprighted the downed apple tree

Returned stern-faced to his holy see.

 

Meanwhile Adam wandered on

More or less oblivious

Not the least bit curious

Why the sky darkened, why it thundered.

 

Not far-off basked another tree

Poplar-like, its tip

Touching low-hung clouds above,

Clothed green in phallic majesty.

 

Forewarned it swayed in anguished fear

Of this man-child's power

Its roots felt weak in static pain

Omens to come of Adam's reign.

 

Omniscient God reacted fast

With satanic trickery

He created a distraction;

Ere Adam thought to take off half-assed

 

He created Eve,

Full-breasted, tempting, tantalizing

A piece of heaven in earthly clay.

Good so, God said.  That’ll save the day.

 

God Himself was quite amazed

Ringside ah'ed and oh'ed

The tree of life sighed relieved

Assured once more of long-term foothold.

 

Adam saw Eve in awe.

Yes, this was paradise.

Eve was happy, too.

She found Adam nice.

 

They chatted throughout the night

The hours passed so fast.

With break of day, however, Adam yawned

But listened still; each word, Eve's delight.

 

By noon Adam's eyes were heavy.

With will he stayed awake.

The hours began to drag their feet.

At last, exhausted, Adam and Eve fell asleep.

 

God looked on somewhat dumbfounded

Something was amiss

Such incessant chatter bored Him, too.

"I'll be damned."  Neither knows what else to do.

 

God understood Adam well

As father does a son.

Paradise could be hell,

All ennui, this perfection.

 

When Adam woke, Eve lay cuddled

Snuggled under his arm

Sleeping, naked, soft and warm

In unquestioned obedience.

 

She smiled sweetly in her dreams

Of innocent delight.

As for Adam, he’d had a horror-ridden night

Puberty no longer oncoming.

 

He scratched his back, looked around

In search of raw release.

The tree of life his eyes soon found

Deep-rooted, a provoking challenge.

 

Adam grabbed the tree by the trunk

In gay expectancy

„This won't do!“  Ringside revolted.

Rotten tomatoes flew.  Shouts.  „Grow up, kid!“

 

God stepped in in mortal anger

Threw Adam to the ground.

Absolutely irritated, "Where are your manners?“

And mad.  „This tree's mine, not yours."

 

Adam sat down and began to cry.

"Don't be mad, please, God, please.

I know my place, but I need Your help.

Tell me about the birds and the bees."

 

God swallowed hard and hemmed and hawed

His anger now abated.

The crowded clouds all perked their ears.

God was embarrassed.  Ringside elated.

 

"Son," He said, "don't be misled.

You don't know what you're asking.

You're much too young, too immature.

Abstinence is far more relaxing."

 

Adam's face was smudged with tears

Both knees bleeding from his fall.

In His huge heart God felt a pang

In Him passion’s love of springtime sang.

 

God tried at first biologically

Diagramming organs.

He talked for hours figuratively

Searching long for proper words.

 

Then He switched to schoolboy men's room stories

Observing delicacy

But this He found crude, even abstruser

Worse yet, unconscionably not in character.

 

The act of love and procreation

Is pure, quite natural

In all aspects before and after

Something wholly international.

 

God spoke on.  He gesticulated

Two long days and nights

In frustration He simulated

Adam remained nonplused.

 

Exhausted, Adam was sent to bed

His head a twirling top

He found Eve under the covers

Smiling from the pillow -- his not hers.

 

Adam bemoaned his body aches

Eve rubbed his back and legs

And warmed his naked breast with hers

Her care far from haphazard.

 

In the course of Adam's course on sex

Eve had not been inactive

Her intellect intuitive

She sensed in Eden the primal urge.

 

For two days she lay in God's orchard

Warmed in late summer sun.

Between the trees of knowledge and life,

She remolded herself to be a wife.

 

The apple tree shared what it knew

In flesh and body language.

The tree of life bestowed blue heaven

In Eve's eyes, its treasured seed in her soul.

 

Thus it was Eve mothered man.

Soon grew a family.

God, a grandpa, was proud and happy.

He had what He long had prayed for.

 

His wedding gift to Adam and Eve

Was one both cherished dear

The gift of toil taught them to fend

For themselves, to see and hear

To understand that Paradise is merely always near.

 

 

Robert J. Gregg is the author of Death Road (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2013). He writes from Frankfurt am Main, Deutschland.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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