The dark, cold mud
At the pond bottom
Sits between my teeth
And their pink gums,
Sounds sink brown
And water bugs jump.
Please pass the plate
Of frayed orange lifejackets.
I’d like an oar or two
In my sweet tea tonight.
Do you see the light
Bob in the ice cubes
Like the waves
Crashing through my ears,
Sending fish and bait
Flopping, sopping up
A swimming appetite
From my dinner plate?
The young sleeping monster
Rests his snoring head
On a cave
Nearly empty,
Except for two bloody bits
Of bone.
Nothing dares disturb the
Solitude except one other,
Larger beast.
Reaching into the
Pocket of darkness
With claws outstretched,
She holds her breath,
Snatching and substituting
With invisible instinct.
Then retreating into the night,
She clutches
Her stolen piece
Of childhood fantasy.
