He Should Not See Death

old enoch goggleyed and goatbearded
strolling with a jealous god
under a silksilver sun
beneath a stonewashed cotton sky
stopped
sighed
tugged at his rusty sackcloth toga
trailed a barebrown
caloused big toe through
the ochre coloured sand
stung a split nail on a surprised scorpion tail
and solemnly suggested
by way of a pleasant stutter

i know you
i know you lord
i know you well enough by now
to know when something is eating at you

the lord your god coughed
chorally
cleared his throat in the note of cee
felt in his clotted cream cloak for something
came out empty handed
tried twice
tried thrice
then clutched a nonchalantly folded handkerchief
chased the holy perspiration halfheartedly around
the temple of his whitewhiskered features
with its fine ivory linen
then threw the wet rag
absentmindedly into the yellowing dust at his tanned
manicured heel

i know
i know
it is a habit
a bad one
but habits are hard to break
particularly the bad ones

yahew nodded his licey leonine head
in a languid yep
but came there answer
no