Creation (Poem)

In the timeless void before it,
God muttered to Himself
And it was.

He stood before the inky black,
His breath stirring the waters.
He unbuttoned his shirtsleeve,
Plunged his arm in elbow deep,
And dragged out the light.
God squinted at it there in his palm,
Tongue between his teeth in thought,
And then he pasted it to the darkness
With the dawn and dusk.
There was a considered nod
And God said,
“Yeah, that looks pretty good.”

The next day God bent down,
Cupped together the waters,
And left in their place the sky.
Another night came and went
To find Him stooped,
Perpendicular palm dividing the seas,
And, with a wrist-flick, continents emerged.
All pretty good,
Although kind of empty too.

God spat on the sky and made the stars.
He whipped up the sun and moon too,
Because, hey, it's nice to be able to mark the time.
Also every fish and mammal and arachnid,
All hundred-odd species of pine trees,
And the ancestor of the bird that relieved itself on my windshield this morning.
“That looks pretty good,”
God judged His handiwork,
Although something still wasn't quite right.

So God took some dirt
Puffed on it
And made humanity
He said,
“Walk with me,
Make love,
Work the earth.
Be my portrait
Hung in the studio of the world.”

Behold, it was very good,
So God laid back to rest.
“After all, what more could anyone want?”
He asked,
Watching Adam and Eve exchange doe-eyed looks in the garden,
Knowing already the irony of the question.