Leaving Eden

The motor’s running and I’m leaving Eden.
It’s gotten too small, too cramped. It’s too green.
I’ve packed my bags, taken my best face cream,
shaken the apple tree until my wormy heart fell at my feet.

It’s not the serpent. I didn’t need convincing.
It’s not in my nature to be happy to ignore what I know.
Can’t remember when I first went suspicious.
If I’m disenchanted with the past at least I’m something,
something to the core.

There never was a paradise on earth, or heaven.
Each fleshy fist of fruit harbours its seed.
Nothing has changed, nothing was ever how it seemed
in Eden, and if it was, I can’t imagine it was me.

The motor’s running, the asphalt is seething.
My bare legs stick to vinyl slick with sweat.
The air of motion now will run its fingers through me
and like Atlantis underwater I’ll forget.