Oct 31, 2016

Fisherwoman

A guilty hope, a lousy despair.
What could have been a whale 
being caught in a muddy trail
I bear the harpoon, I bear the wreath
Waiting for the fatal strike,
splattering blood,
gathering spoils of priceless meat.
Only it had been all along
a puffer poisoned,
pretending woe.
It hardly had been worth at all
To kill the wiggly finny foe...