Telephone ...

God spoke to Solomon,

Whose sandy, wide eyes opened toward the sound.

Interpreting, he sang,

                                                                        “To every thing there is a season,

                                                                      and a time to every purpose

                                                                          under heaven.”

And likewise spoke to Caesar,

Whose hungry, gold leaves glistened on his crown

As he too sang,

                                                                     “Took every thing; fair is the seizing.

                                                        Land of Thames, too – never purchase;

                                                                         plunder Britain.”

And sameways spoke to Julia Child,

Who dropped down her bronze duck roast

and cawed by that clang,

                                                         “To every sprig there is a season-

                                                  ing, some thyme for every parsley.

                                                                 And yeast leavens!”

Then to Jacques Cousteau

Who goggle-peered through the water

and, bubbling, sang,

                                   “True levies sing; fair is the sea's song.

                                Hand some time to every porpoise

                                             under the seven.”

And off to Salvador Dalí,

Who imagined that voice was a pubic-haired bird

and claimed, with greasy bangs,

                  “Do anything, bare is the reason –

    grab and twine, clocks and persons,

                     wonder-woven.”

“Aw hell – okay, let's go with that,”

God giggled to its unself

and rested.