Dappled sunlight drifting through the trees,
and the hard wood of this desk underneath me,
what must, what must God think lookin’ down?
ain’t no Noah built ark, far as I know,
though me and Tom got paired off anyhow.
But who’d he want to drown out,
if anyone?
And I’ sure, sure of it,
there’s some buttoned up speaker,
with that bible-beat drawl, of course,
declaring this flood, “This flood is the Lord’s work!”
praising all the death of “Sodom and Gomorrah”
tellin’ us all that we can’t look back,
lest we’re left as salt-licks.
I wonder, wonder what that button up’d make of me.
Might just kiss Tom for the supposed brimstone of it.
smell the earth in the water,
as them golden arches float on by,
feel the cool breeze and the smell of rain,
it’s gonna, gonna storm again.
and I wonder if Moses drives highway 71,
does he know the left-hand turnoff at 40,
know the roads so well that he just drives,
the floodwaters parting ‘round his red Charger,
crashin’ ‘n earthshakin’ behind.
His wooden skin creakin’ as he floors that pedal,
leadin’, leadin’ no one to no kingdom of God.
rain-drops start patterin’
and these thoughts are a scatterin’.
