On the eighth day, after breakfast,
God-in-the-image-of-a-man
stepped out of the good book
and into his pottery workshop
with a cup of tea.
Heron and egret, stilt and giraffe
and a dinosaur with a mile-long neck
created he them
by dribbling globules of clay
in teetering configurations,
the job-lot dried and fired
glazed and kick-started
one morning before elvenses.
Also a special kind of homo-sapiens
clutching its necessary stone tablets,
Intelligent Design carved thereon.
God looked them up and down.
"I doubt they'll swallow that."
His massive shoulder twitched and rippled.
He turned to fold himself
back between the pages
and thus spake three words
to a tangle of limbs,
saying,
"Break a leg."