I never understood that one, before.
What made you wrestle with the angel?
What fool would try it on,
would fight a schrecklich messenger of God,
and waste a night on it?
What'd you get out of it, except a limp?
You did much better with your sheep-breed scam
the brindle swindle of your lover's dad.
But now, it all makes sense.
You saw them watching you,
those black white figures
those alien colours
masquerading as heaven sent,
but clearly not.
Not holy, not of nature, therefore Satanic,
so with the deadly logic of a Rottweiler,
you went for him,
tearing the trousers of the messenger,
scattering all his letters to the wind.
Lucky he only touched your hip.
If he had grabbed your balls
there would have been no twelve tribes,
no genealogies,
no David, Solomon, prophets,
a different history.
They'd have invented one though.
Similar.
Or worse.
(c) Richard Lawson ca. 1999
image courtesy of http://www.abcgallery.com/G/gauguin/gauguin17.html
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