The Poetry Marathon

This is a story of a boy, fifteen.
Kafka, turns into a cockroach, don’t
approach; I prefer isolation. No need,
no need. Go away.

I appreciate cross cultural references.
Meta-critical poetry. Metaphysical cross-
country. Metaphorical love-making.
Meta-l music. Meta-stasis from young to
younger. Meta-morphosis from man to—

Villain. Or maybe that is simply a trope.
I appreciate tropes. Not troops, military or
otherwise. That is simply too straight—

Forward.

What do you say to a man who lacks
the makings of the sea?

“Old man, leave me be. Salao, you.
Haven’t caught a fish in… what, 84 days?
I am young, strong, sturdy. You don’t deserve me.
I will climb a boat that smells of morning fish.
You pull a line to break it. You’re useless, old man.”

But what if I am you, old man? What if
I become salao and that big fat marlin
prances around my boat and that big fat
marlin prances around my boat until my
left hand gives in until my left hand…

I love you, old man. And now you’ve
made me cry. I promise you that we will
fish together until either of us dies. I need you,
old man. I’m practicing self-actualization.

Until that time this is to be the story
of the old man and the sea.

“No- I am not the speaker of things simpler”,
you say–
Do you not want to wish me
a good night’s sleep?
And maybe later, a good morning.

The next morning. I am off to
treasure island. Or perhaps the words
preceding require capitalization. Some
form of revitalization. Treasure Island?
There. I might have fixed it. After all-

I am the fixer of things simpler. I am a bush,
that one Bush. In the aftermath of the after-hours
of the last time I kissed your baby lips… I am clean
and pure-

And surely a little insecure.

My friends say I suck;
I think I soak.
I’m but an undergraduate
employed at a burger shack.
My friend is a star
but I’m stuck behind a bar;
My neighbor thinks I’m annoying-
he’s my only friend and now I’m crying.
I’m just a little kid trying not to be a square
(Surprisingly enough, that’s exactly what I am.)
But you have to consider my upbringing if you are to be fair.
I am but a pacific creature
I hope all these words explain to you my features.

I am who lives, you see
in a pineapple under the sea.

Hi. From Nepal here. Looking forward to the Poetry Marathon. Ain’t never done this before. Haha. Hopefully I don’t fall asleep. See you in a little while, peeps.