Narrative

Saturday morning 
the past week’s barnacles 
still stubbornly clinging 
trying 
to unwind 
wrap my mind 
around 
the widening girth 
of a half decent poem 
it’s summit 
shimmering 
in the distance 
adorned 
with mockingbirds 
a kiss of lovers past 
and paths 
left unexplored 
it was then 
I sensed 
the presence of greatness 
of scales tipping 
of Zeus 
casually 
leaning over my shoulder 
and 
my six year old daughter 
asked 
if I was present 
when Moses 
parted 
the red sea 
I placed it 
amongst other things 
left to rot 
collecting 
dust

The assassination of poetry