Fruit of the Vine

Cursed be Canaan!

—Genesis 9:25

Several seasons after the flood

Noah farms a vineyard

Reaps his harvest, drinks his reward

Once drunk, passed out, alone

In his tent—his snores call out

Summon his sons:  One finds nudity

Two step backward, a blanket

Tiptoed between them, a drape

To cover their father’s shriveled sex

One night, millennia later:  a crash

A sharp crack of shattered glass

A crunch of bent metal

The dazed driver staggers toward me

Kneels on the sidewalk, hands clasped

Help me, he prays.  Help him, he points

A shadow beneath the headlight beams

Now, I kneel—an unconscious fool

Smelling of wine on the pavement

Beard unkempt, jeans unzipped

My jacket drapes his swollen sex

When Noah awoke to discover

The sin of his son, he cursed him

Forever a slave to his brothers

The car-struck drunk never awoke

For weeks, only his sandal remained

A fossil, a stain of shame on our street

Relief, 2008