The Salmon Cannoneer
Without courtesy of a call that's cold
Or even one where your neighbor's been approved
The Salmon Cannoneer arrives,
In overlapping rubber, yellow scales,
Dripping wet, imposing in his uniform.
With seaweed for his epaulets
And a handlebar mustache
Where gills should be,
And big, black boots, mud fauceted off
From banks his bridges join.
He plywoods up two facets of a wall
And pumps a hollow out to build its pylons in.
Surrounds it all with a chain link fence
So children's armies must out flank
The danger cratered building site.
Hegemony of childhood matters less
Than salmon inklings manifest:
That thought itself is flight above
Strange deserted waterfalls.
Copyright © Stephen Wilson-Floyd | Year Posted 2022
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