Saturday, September 22, 2012

Saturday Poetry: Bait (from East River Soliloquies)



I pulled it out.
By then it scarcely hurt.
I winced just a little as I tore
sickly arteries apart.
I would not use it anymore.
Had no need for this one with
its thrumming dance,
no more space for its pathetic concuss,
that ushered a red serenade
through its chambers.

Why did Venus do this?
I'll feed it to the fish, I thought.
They'll eat it before it hits bottom,
before she finds it.
I can't be bothered with the thing, I said,
flexing my arm, testing until I was satisfied
it could bear the weight.

Sensing the end,
my heart surged unforgivably hot.
It leaped and pounded, gurgled and ran
so badly that I silenced it with my sopping shirt,
hastily dropped it in a plastic bag,
setting out heedless
to the fact that
I could be seen through,
laughed at,
humiliated all over again.

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