Crisis, by Amy Watkins

The Son of Man, by Rene Magritte (Belgium) 1964.

Crisis

What envious Eve gave him this green apple,
leaves like butterfly wings or the grasping palms

of praying mantis, and why can’t he pass it off
like a boy in a party game passing a balloon

or orange or Lifesaver down the line,
lips puckered around a toothpick, eyes open?

Behind his green mask, he questions the entire concept
of Eden (he is as lonely as any person has ever been).

Someone said we make our own paradise, and he’s tried
painting, drinking, carefully syllabic poetry,

expensive therapy and cheap AA meetings.
This is his latest attempt: standing alone by the sea.

It should make his life seem meaningful, but if
it doesn’t, he’ll doff his bowler hat, try religion.

Amy Watkins

This poem was first published in HCE Review.
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Amy Watkins is a poet and corporate trainer from Orlando, Florida. She is the author of three chapbooks--Milk & Water, Lucky, and Wolf Daughter--and the art editor for Animal: A Beast of a Literary Magazine.