The Bay

The Bay of Bengal
Re-pukes a holowind of
Unnatural fury
And uncivilized debris;

The tongue of death
Licks one
But misses another;

Later,
A boy stands
Upon a salty rock,
Staring down,
Blankly,
Unhurriedly,
As waves nip at
A bloated baby;

Stiff,
Outstretched arms
Lie frozen;
Death has left fingers
And toes puffy,
Lips and eyes bulgy;

The backdrop is a freighter,
As large as fear,
Anchored like a stone:

A mother rocks her baby
To sleep,
Yawns,
Hums Brahms' Lullaby,
Watches late-night news
To stay awake,
But switches channels
With a "remote"
When ugly becomes
Too ugly.


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