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
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