The three had flaccid, supple skin
And from their heads three antennae
Sprouted. Onto each
I affixed a fishing line, and from the bluelight
Of their ovalship
I watched (Which they left me —
As fat Left it in good hands,
Alligar, I was my father’s caretaker
One by When he sickened,
One, Me and Annie in the kitchen,
snapped, Cooking a meal for the three of us;
Bit. The line of my jaw curves wrong,
They were Too strong — a wish for meeker hands)
Fishing for a few hours —
Old Charles and I examined, took notes as the fish weighed them down
And they were dragged crabpincered slitmouthed
Into the waters and the thrashing, oh the thrashing —
I have cleaned spitblood off a plate, before,
Yes I have.
But burstblood,
But to clean a whole river is beyond me.
-- Noam Hessler is a poet from New England. Hessler’s work has been published in Misery Tourism, BRUISER, and DON’T SUBMIT. They are currently a student at Vassar College, and can be found on twitter at @poetryaccnt1518.