I can do no right

for doing wrong

and it does me no favours

to see the words come

back and bite me

with nibbling teeth,

drooling with spittle

foamed sarcasm

and the odd knee to the groin

verbal jibe.

How much simpler for the sharks

to swim and attack

at the same time,

false cartilage protruding and hitting

me in the ribs, softening me up

in a minute or two, making

me tender, making me scared

and tired, before ultimately

going in for the kill, tearing me limb from bloody limb;

so much easier to die at the razor sharp teeth

of the inhuman shark,

than the flapping gums

of a half intrigued goldfish.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016