ROCK POOL


A sea anemone
waving my long tentacles
endlessly
A crab pincers at the ready
A limpet
hanging on for dear life
A minnow
quiet in the shadows
the tide bringing bigger fish
into the shallows.





ROCK POOL



There was nothing cynical or weary
about the little sea anemone
living in a rockpool by the seashore.
It was doing its own thing, little hands
waving like a happy crowd at a rock concert.

I felt like a fraud and a fool
for writing silly poems about animals
and people.
I saw I wasn't that great
compared to the little anemone
who shifted stanzas like a forklift truck.

All those poems were nothing but tired
complaints against the human race.

I looked at the anemone and said to myself -
Poet, grow a carapace!