The ocean is distressed. The whales run back,

toward the sound of those unfruiting cries,

while whalers scout with their dim-casted eyes,

the film of murky water, red and black.

Mirrors of harpoons curve the wavering

sky, a danger and a shadow indiscreet.

As men’s bellowing shouts and frantic feet

beshake the sea, to leave beslavering

whales. The whales move closer, the water pours

off blubber settling into the cut sea,

as the rough coils of rope enfold unfree,

the body buckled there, immured in gore.

A flickering candle casts an eerie light—

a woman nestles her book at night.

when I asked for a piece of gum and

when we played dressup and

when we sang “Wonderwall” and

when we sat at the beach with the pigeons pecking the crumbs at our feet and

when we laid there side by side talking about classes and

when uno was slapped on the bed and

when improv was shrieking laughter and

when melted crayons dripped off paper and

when broken plastic covered polly pockets and

when we sat as GameCube spun Mario Kart and

when your shell hurled at my car and

when it flipped off the cliff and

when Bowser looked at me and

when my last life was gone and

when you drove on and