The water ran thick and red with silt, 
undrinkable.  We clenched
fists of mud and cursed the drought,
the desert.  It didn't seem like revenge.

When there is no water,
and the frogs spawn
under the parching sun,
you begin to wonder what god
is experimenting with your sanity.

Nobody spoke of the lice,
but smeared mud and garlic
under our robes,
made excuses in bed.

Then came the swarm,
which carried -

it must have come from the bugs,
the swarms of mites in the field;
they musth have carried some disease.
The air was thick with buzzing
and rotting cattle. 

and then it came for us.
like tiny stones
flung at us
from angry gods.
People stopped praying,
pawed at the sand
for shelter. 

and then we starved,
watching the winter stores
wither under the sharp hum
of locusts. 

we were almost grateful
for the blindness
when it came,
Makat B'chorot.
until the first wails
snatched the darkness from us,
and there was the sun,
glaring at each dead boy.
I remember, too,
how the Israelite women cried,
watching us bury them.

By Dane Kuttler: https://www.danepoetry.com/

haggadah Section: -- Ten Plagues
Source: Dane Kuttler: https://www.danepoetry.com/