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A turtle
surfaces
on the pond
of memory
moss hanging from
its carapace
It floats
turtle and moss
The turtle’s mouth
Gapes
Words belch forth
—If you don’t work,
You don’t eat—
With a self-satisfied smirk
The encumbered reptile
Tips
And paddles back into the
Depths...
Ennui engulfed
The man sits silently
At the edge of the pond
Later,
not much later,
A second turtle pokes its penis-like
Head
Through the curtain
Of water into the air..
Its head swings toward the man...
He flinches, knowing what is coming,
The turtle mouth, cotton candyish interior,
Opens...
—Pull the trigger;
It’s not loaded;
You couldn’t hit anything, anyway—
Moss trailing, though not so much
As the first,
The turtle returns to the deep.
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