Heads of Fish and State

Heads Of Fish And State Little old man in his eighties holds fish heads to his side Gently nestled under the arm Tightly wrapped in newspapers They won’t last long under a sweltering sun The gentle soul sits next to me on the park bench My temporary home Nurses swing around the park with carriages Babies occupy them with their cries I look keenly at the senior and his package Now held closely on his lap We both sit comfortably in my open parlor As I ponder what mystery he is clinging to I strike up a friendly conversation with the man Lies fly from me as naturally as breathing At once they hit the man like bullets So many at a time to fill him up My eyes start bulging in surprise As lie after lie spray out, looking for a life or score to settle on To thrill the elder gentleman, who in truth Continues only thinking about fish head soup What a lovely dinner is in his future There is only confusion to be garnered from a stranger anyway A young fool like me dressed like a hobo on the loose I went on to teach this old crow a thing or two I told him a well-kept secret in my life King Chucklemiester, my best friend, is a head of state The ruler of Persia, who cares for me like a brother To my surprise the old fellow said, “Indeed!” “I play Parcheesi with the king on Tuesdays.” “I too know the Chucklemeister family intimately” Pronouncing every syllable and consonant correctly and precise Making my invented word his very own and history to be believed He went home at that point slowly With my Chucklemeister word in tow Tossed it in the soup with heads of fish I wonder what other heads of state are in that dish