righteous in his generation
they didn’t doubt the old man
about the flood:
a deluge was forecast
on the back of every woolybear caterpillar
and transcribed into the mosses of Ur.
it was his whole control thing
made them peel off from the two by two,
one here, one there. a dragon,
sent for a load of alfalfa, dropped the hay
and flew west with the fairy tribe.
miffed at being classed unclean, the unicorns
threw in their lot with Poseidon’s mares,
adding white foam to the waves.
the old man turned to wine when it was all over,
to hide from the eyes of the drowned legends.
This is Rallentanda’s prompt for the week.