HOPEFISH

By Lewis Brown

If dreams are fish this year was a

wading bird with searchlight eyes

and a harpoon beak.

It’s not too late. It’s not

too late. Please. I can’t.

No more.

If I watch another squirming chance impaled

I’ll drown. My heart will stop

then start again. It’s not too late.

I can’t. Can’t scrape my insides back inside

another time. The heron keeps the choicest guts.

No more. I can’t stand another chance.

I see now why hope was in Pandora’s jar.

Why it was

cruel to let

it stay. The

beak

descends.

It’s not too

late. I wish

it was.

#darkpoetsclub