Battle Art Wages
for T.L.C.

small children concerns
is what she’s always occupied with

without end inviting her to graduate
but can she, can she join me
come away from immaturity
from concerns of early twenties

I’m over fifty, in the ocean swimming
miles deep, beneath my kicking feet

sharks, whales feast about me
as well as God knows what else

unable to get her out here
even in a hovercraft

she clings to shore and to religion
to what she thinks is
or what she knows
of right and wrong

reluctant to abandon her moral laws
her religious logic

I am, I suppose, like that marlin
Hemingway’s old man
fished for for three days

too big for her skiff
not outfitted with
required emotional
or intellectual equipment
to make much use of me

all she knows to be is defensive
unappreciative

bird or fish, as old, as big as I have grown
she has no clue how to cook
how or where to begin to feast

little as she is
I should be able to devour her
in one swallow

but she’d be throwing
kicks and punches

I’d be the one savaged
I’m certain


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
9:29 p.m. 24.03.08