By John RC Potter
The legend goes there was a prophet or perhaps a pilgrim,
who wandered the biblical lands many moons ago;
he predicted what had happened after the flood.
A soothsayer or charlatan we will never know,
but he wrote his visions on scraps of parchment;
hidden in a metal box in the sands outside Jericho.
Ensuing decades and centuries passed by in a flash,
lives appearing and then lost across a shifting stage;
then in another part of the world, someone appeared.
“Aprés moi, le déluge!” were words that turned the page,
and spawned new aberrations and renewed loathing;
leading the way to chaos and calamity into a new age.
The body appeared after the flood had receded away,
everyone running to the bridge to see the flotsam;
but it was just another author unidentified, in decay.
He had blatantly ignored the submission guidelines,
and for his sins had been tarred, feathered, and flayed;
lips not moving, a voice intoned: “After me, the flood!”