Gone Fishing

Lone spearmen walk the banks,
Sharp-eyed and selective,
they choose their prey:
A meal reserved for few.
The act itself, exclusive.

Others prefer hooks,
taut lines, and sinkers—
bells on their poles.
They wait in lawn chairs
talking weather.
at the sound of a strike.

Ships, less particular,
use nets. No time
for shoreline discrimination,
they sort their catch later,
or not at all
then sell it to the masses
by the pound.

I prefer a bobber,
red and white,
I can go for days without a bite.

Love Redux

And you would have me share—
Are you crazy?
What don’t you get about insane?

My will is a warm straight jacket
Lending steel and spine—
a jellyfish of eyes
and quick emotions.
I jumble my words
and choke on anger.
I can stare down the devil
or wither at a song.

Duty, I understand,
and obligation—
I am my word
and my word can be anything.
My creditors can be angels or whores.

Once upon a time I wrote you a hero,
A virtuous knight, a champion.
We enjoyed the fiction,
content to play fools.

Only, I wasn’t acting.
I have always been a fool.
Let me lie to you a lifetime.
Don’t ask me to share,
Just pretend that you still need me.
I am lost without this role.