poem #26

tuna eye
It’s a heckuva
tuna flapping
on deck and
bleeding from
the gaff wound.
Wound up and
plenty still alive,
looking me over like
humanoid roadkill,
wanting to damn me
to some shitsphere.
Algiers comes to mind,
my UN buddy having
got hisself blowed
up and all apart
there via car
in ’07.
Fishy here’s
sure enough
meaning to rise
up with the swell,
bring its muscle
to my face like
a ahi anvil, snap
my neck back.
Shitty luck for
Mr. Skipjack. ‘Cause
I got me this fileting
knife. And I got me
this appetite. And
I’m gonna be all
eating me sashimi
in the glory of
South Pacific 
– Ricky Henry Harris
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