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A fish in its element
by Laura DoomThe tiger, though spineless,
is nonetheless a formidable fish.
A fish! Is that something I was taught
at school? Perhaps I was distracted,
painting beauty spots for lovers
or discovering a taste for Vindaloo.
As art intimates life, so life
imitates art, suspending possibilities.
But why exhibit in vitro--in a latrine?
Though it's not my preserve,
I've heard that vitriol plays
the ultimate complement, pays
the ultimate compliment, brings
home the bacon, sinks to dismiss
a penchant for taking the piss.
Across the pond, a dealer
in derivatives takes stock,
one drop in the ocean
of empty-eyed appreciation.
An audience overlooks the subject
making peace with its prey.
"Is Mr Death in?" begs
the misleading question:
why are we hanging around? 03/11/2014 Author's Note:
Version #1 trashed 04-03-14 [UK]
The Physical Impossibility
of Death in the Mind
of Someone Living
and other stories
Posted on 03/11/2014
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Johnny Crimson on 03/11/14 at 12:48 PM Excellent! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/11/14 at 03:43 PM I like the serious but playful outspokenness of this. Can't recall the word 'piss' used in a poem before, and I like the vibes it gives off here in relation to the rest of the piece. |
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