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
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- Debra Marlar
- is a Poet currently seeking publication. Most days you will find her cleansing her soul (what's left of it) tap-tapping away at her keyboard... Contact Debra
kick-ass writers & writing groups;
2 comments:
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.
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?
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