There we were

at the bottom of the mountain

folding fashion magazines

into little origami gods,

all rather taken

by the magic of our own fingers…

meanwhile upstairs, the brewing storm

was set to spill boiling sulphur

on our heads heavy with hair products;

we had no idea;

we thought the midday darkness

was just your run of the mill pollution.

Good thing Moses put in a word

to save our stiff necks

mal-adapting to little screens

(more of the same finger-magic).

So the Lord didn't smack us down after all,

but neither did he take us by the ear

and march us out of the desert;

that's why we're still here

turning circles in the sand,

spinning wheels,

kicking up dust

that settles on mass extinctions

everywhere this side

of the promised land.