Wednesday, February 7, 2018

You Say I'm Too Repressed

A crushing tsunami—
the sea inhaling as deeply as it can.
A yogic breath,
then exhaling all the water
and startled swordfish
and stoic squid
and cynical sharks
and despairing dolphins
and human debris
and boats
filled with freaked-out fishermen.
My rage hurls all this over the land,
tearing down towering high-rise hotels
and tin-roofed shanties you try your best not to see
on your well-earned vacation.
To say nothing of your sandcastles
or the sunburned dad buried up to his neck in sand.
He’s really buried now.  Buried in my wrath.
The siren screams at you
to take shelter on higher ground,
but you’ll never have enough time, really.
Unless you were one of the wise animals
who looked up suddenly a day or two ahead of time
and thought,
Oh shit, I’d better get the hell out of Dodge.
Then there is quiet.
A sense of well-being fills me,
like the beach is filled with wreckage
and the detritus of everyday life.

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