Banana Boat

Here's what happens when the sea's a mystery.

Spontaneous Generation

The lamprey on my neck won’t quit.

I’ve pulled it off twice already.
Fellow diners ignore it, & I
have used this situation to my
advantage, settling the parasite
into my collar like a tie.

The server brings my shellfish & white sauce,

his eyes attracted to gaping hickeys
where the lamprey made previous strikes.
I stare him down & order more wine.
He returns with my order & word
that my fiancée has hit a snag & will
be unable to dine with me this evening.

Each swallow of wine I take

reminds me of my blood
in the cylindrical body of my guest companion.
I hope the lamprey doesn’t find my jugular,
wring my life straight from my heart,
strangle me with a tail whip round my throat,
my words dying in mid-speak.

After dinner, I leave very little tip.

I walk down the street, around the corner,
unknotting the lamprey as I go.
No one asks for spare change when a near snake
hangs suctioned by my side.
The street becomes quiet & dark;
the city is swallowed by long shadows.