Garden of Eden

(Genesis of the US Police State)

Gone west,
with the trees
the fruits
and the pits,
their god’s own
with bared asses
and tits.
That fabled
biblical nudity
until its famed
opened their mail.
It wasn’t an apple
lurid with greed
Nor berries shamelessly
scattering seed
but the tree of a plum,
in the sun dried
and done,
in the sin tried,
natives fried,
slaves whipped
for fun.
Burned in prunery
the hot garden
of prudery,
quenching their thirst,
ignoring crimes worse,
slurping juice of obscenity
from the fruit of mendacity
discharging the narrative
eased by a laxative

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is also the author of Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..