Friday, February 2, 2007

salmon cakes

reckless mind-lust
propels you forward
like a pacific salmon thrashing
on the crest of rushing waters,
determined to make it upriver.
to spawn until the moment
you take your last breathless gulp.

i see you there, swimming to her
guided by ego, the mere idea of her.
swimming, swimming.
exhaustion, fins flailing
silver-blue fishtail flipping-off
naysaying hungry bears
warning you of her wanton whims.
skeptical fishermen
wagging their spears in disgust.

send her a message,
pretty words in a bottle and be done with it!
don't you know death is imminent
when you arrive at your destination?
is your birth not worth
the living of it unless you find her there
waiting,
oh so very accommodating
in the pond of your undoing?

in the dim-lit swank of the kansas city star diner
the salacious one flips open the menu and smiles
she already knows what she came for.

I’ll have the salmon cakes….

© Copyright claimed 2007, Debra Marlar

2 comments:

Drake Lightle (aka Deleted User; Charles Bukkake) said...

The friendliest, most-memorable, purposeful and well-intended slap in the face...EVER.

That Salmon might have felt it a little more if EGO weren't such a numbing thing...and the waters in which he made his dna-programmed migration were not so deep and cold.

Lola Nation said...

you inspired this poem with that one - even if I was feeling defensive, I still remember that week as a good writing week among the people on urbis:

I realize now that

Perhaps he might be right

that KC isn't what I think

or what my Grandmother said it was



I hate salmon

No matter now you cook it

unless it's blackened

I can't stand it



I also can't stand diners

or the little snippy

one liners

between brilliant minds

being nothing

but unkind



So fuck the food

Fuck regret

If you want to play Hamlet

I have no problem

with what you recite

If you want to stare at the

Waterhouse painting

Have a good night

The curator isn't coming back

To check on the lingering viewers

And the diner won't stay open 24 hours

For someone who's cooking and stewing

In their confusion



I think I've made a grave mistake

I think I let you trick me

out of my destiny

And into believing that

That there was high hopes in fate…



Are you greek?