Springtime on The Ark

Even though the skies still weep
and no land's in sight,
no plum blossom or pussy willow
it's springtime on the Ark.
Animals partners behaving as naturally,
as confines allow.
Motion sickness to morning sickness
and Noah places buckets
in strategic spots like ashtrays
worrying all the while, as bellies swell,
if the Ark can stand the strain

Ham and Japheth sleeves rolled
taking turns to watch
for problems, breach births
or other such un-pleasantries.
Mrs. Noah muses, thanking God
it isn't her lying in the straw,
belly tight as a drum.
Catching Noah's eye,
she blushes, blows a kiss.

The Ark is filled with nursery sounds,
bleats and mews and chirps.
As mothers nurse,
fathers preen oblivious
to the repopulating
of the drowned earth.
On deck Noah scans the heavy skies
for his dove.