Be wary of the guy

Be wary of the guy

Who is certain

He is right.

I know almost nothing,

I may have an understanding

Of one or two things

Especially after a drink

When, for a brief moment,

I am brilliant.

It is soon over.

Too many writers

Say they are communists

Anarchists

Or atheists

Sometimes all three at once

And yet they spend

So much time

Writing about god

Ancient Greece

Or being unlucky

In love and life

Whilst pretending they don’t care

About anything

Other than their words.

When

What they care about most is

Themselves

And their next drink

They care not for goldfish

Croaking frogs

Or the rabid fox.

Nothing will convince me

That a spirit hides in the sky

Well, I would say that

It is part of my

Self-determination.

‘controversy’ with a little

Sea

Is always deeper

In the middle.

I dug a trench

Of titanic proportions

In my backyard

Stuck in a liner

(Not that kind)

Before filling it with water

And Koi.

It was hard work

But a satisfying thing to do

The fish seemed happy

To swim for their supper

They didn’t have a lot to say

But did jump through hoops

For the extra rations

All seemed good

For a couple of years

Until the day of the Heron.

If there were a god

He would have protected

The little fishes

But he didn’t

Which seems to happen a lot.

I thought twice

About restocking

Instead, I refilled the pit.

It took a while for the smell

To dissipate

The aroma of death

Always seems to linger.