Noah Noah died an alcoholic death After years of drinking red wine Like one of those bearded patriarchs Of the Central Valley Who used to sit at the head of the table, Tilting the green bottle Towards a faceted water glass, Red crust at the corners of their mouths, Holding forth about why You can't trust the banks. Passed out naked one night, His sons crept into the room backwards So as not to have to see all that And covered their father with a sheet, Whereupon he woke up cursing. He’d been a good writer once. Wrote something called Genesis. Hell of a first chapter, But he squandered the advance. Then he became a shipwright Before settling down, literally, Onto a bit of land. God invented the rainbow To remind Himself to turn off the spigot. He had a real soft spot for Noah, But no one could save him from himself. It would have been better Had he planted orchards instead Of vineyards, pressed olives into oil Instead of crushing grapes into wine. He was 950 when he died. Had he managed to get sober, He might have lived to see 1000.
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Aww such lovely poem