“Such a cook your Mother is!”
gushed Adam to his sons.
“You should be so lucky
to find so good,
(once we figure out
where to look!)”
Eve stood at her end of her table,
blushing behind her vail,
her arms folded in a proud, proprietary pose.
Then, she frowned at her growing brood.
“Abel,” she nudged,
“You should eat the fruits and vegetables
your brother brings to Sabbath supper.
You need the vitamins!
Cain, thank your brother for the lamb
and for heavens sake,
use your sleeve to wipe its blood
off your beard and hands!
The three of you eat
like a horde of barbarians!”
What!
Her men,
startled again,
looked up at her.
How did she know
such words?
How had she learned
such words?
Such knowledge she had!
Always,
only from her,
came such words.
Poems by Ken 