Monday, July 21, 2025

Sheep and Wives and Concubines

Perhaps I could deal with a flooded world,
a sky when the sun stopped marching at noon,
or an angry god who hated Philistine platoons

depending on the day of the week.
I might be amenable to ten basic codes
chiseled into heartless Sinai stone

or be persuaded to dismantle my golden calf
and babble an extra language or two
if I were a Barnum and Bailey madcap wandering Jew.

All of these insults and demands would be just fine
if I could grow old with a long white beard
and have my servants’ feet trample the harvest

into a dozen blends of red, full-bodied wine,
if I could sit peacefully outside my tent
and survey sheep and wives and concubines.

My son could riff and wail on an oxen horn,
my daughter wiggle a mean hoochie coo
on desert land where the wind blows hot

and Yahweh more than a little cold.
I’d be more than amenable, more than fine
to watch sheep and wives and concubines.

~William Hammett


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