Fleeing, yes, fleeing the winter’s breeze
Inside a boat made of steel, ready for war,
I saw a thing I cannot describe.
Measuring perhaps ten feet long,
It slithered on the ground
Like my ex-wife’s father,
A worm like the worm I was called
But dark green like vomit.
I asked the daylight guardian to stamp it out,
And he refused, so I asked the night-darkness
Hookworm to infest it, and it did not,
So finally I stomped it out with my boot,
And I let the alley dogs lick it clean.
— Gabriel Fenteany, March 26, 2014
