Feathered Flies

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

The water smells of rubber soles.
Downstream they know
And hide.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

A strange insect
Of feathered wings
Lands, then jumps.

There it is again!
Perhaps a swarm
Of feathered food!

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Stupid insects!
How they dance
With rhythmic respect.

Here we go!
Dance, oh thou
Feathered wings aglow.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.

Gotcha!
Echos from the wiggling space.

Sharp.
Pain.
Pulls.

Tastes of unfamiliar ions
And birds.
Gills filled with air,
I am caught.

Beware the fisherman, they said in school.
Beware the fisherman who makes a fool
Of even the wisest of trout.

He fishes down at the water’s edge.
We know him, they said.
They told me so.

You know him by the fins he wears
Nothing in the water bears
Such stench or undertow.
They block the flow,
You know.

I scream and fight
And warn my hundred brothers
Hundred others
Who survived the journey here.

Beware the fisher…
They do not hear.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

Plop.
Swish.
Kxsh.

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