He wakes up naked and drunk as a bear
on sun-fermented garbage.
Hungover and queasy and riled up by
Nothing going well today, he moans,
life being short and the craft, ah, long.
Still, might as well take a stab at it,
lording it over misrule and tending the
that transforms a garden into Genesis.
So there he goes, stalking through the
on his back legs, pelting down half-
from a great height.
Whatever he touches shrieks and bel-
lows or writhes
like the alphabet.
A is for Crocodile, he croaks,
dashing through the Everglades. See you
And B is for the Wasp that stings him
and C —
C is for the wide blue Ocean
in which he nearly drowns.
But nothing can drown him, our Adam
whose resolution is steadfast
and breezy at last, and buoyant
as a stone boat.
Méira Cook, "Adam Father," from A Walker in the City. Copyright © 2011 by Méira Cook. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Source: A Walker in the City (Brick Books, 2011)