Sharks
My brook has grown
into an ocean.
Pearl-spot fish
have disappeared.
Instead,
sharks skulk around.
They see
my pocket,
not my heart.
They’re
democratically undemocratic.
Poetry is inedible.
Profit is
the sole default
in their thought-mechanism.
Shark morphing
petrifies me.
I wake up
from the dreamy life,
losing my serenity
in their serrated presence.
I turn
a tiny sardine,
ready to be swallowed.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
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