Poem: My Seven Million Forefathers

Last night, while dozing in my chair

I dreamt a dream divine:
My seven million forefathers
All standing in a line

My own Papa stood at the front
(With him I'm well acquainted)
Beyond, a landscape bold and bright
Like Monet might have painted

And over hill and through the vale
'Twixt trees and under bough
Wound fathers' line, both grand and great
To deep past from the now

Papa gave me a nod and smile
But urged that I move on
"You've many more to meet and greet
Before your journey's done!"

The first step brought my Grandad near:
A rake in tie and boaters
But black and white from head to toe -
I knew him just from photos

Great-grandad passed by, quicker now
I caught but one glimpse fleeting
My feet moved ever faster for
My will they were not heeding

Thus did my lineage whiz by
With rising rapidity
I tried to slow, to pause and chat
But I could not - a pity

What stories might these men have told!
What lessons of the past!
Alas, they never had the chance
I shot by much too fast

Yet, there was method to my haste
I sensed as I progressed
Before my eyes, my ancestors
Had visibly regressed

Their clothes grew spartan, rudimentary
Cloths gave way to furs
Then those, too, all but fell away
Save for a groinal purse

Meanwhile, as if not shock enough
To see my line reduced
To scraps of skins - their humanness
Itself, became less lucid

The brow sloped back, the stature shrunk,
The posture turned peculiar
And body hair returned in a
Renaissance follicular

But where the line twixt man and beast
In this long devolution?
Was it to come? Had it passed by?
Not either! 'Twas illusion!

Truth crashed upon me like a wave
Despite my mind's resistance:
Grandfather, brachiating ape -
'Twas but a point of... distance

And of the myriad life forms
From whom I'd not descended?
Each herb, each germ, each coelecanth -
All family extended

Though dizzied by this new insight
I'd gained upon reflection
My full attention suddenly
Was drawn to my direction

For while I'd mused and pondered still
I'd progressed unabated
'Till all about me'd grown strange
And ominously shaded.

I turned towards my forefathers
In hope of explanation
But found them tiny, shrew like things
In states of agitation

As one, with arm, or claw, or paw,
They pointed to the sky
Each bared his teeth, with whiskers flared
And let a piercing cry

The air about me turned to flame
Like Satan's dying curse
For, to my eyes, a meteor
Was striking in reverse

And as the light consumed my being
I finally lost my balance
Awake, I tumbled from my chair
And, flailing, ripped the valance.

Now, in my dreams, I've, humbled, seen
The blurry birth of men
And yet, the deepest truth I've learned...?
Don't drink port after ten.

fin