A Wanted Pickle

A desperate hand straight out of the water,

The sound of a hound in hunting season.

Flotsam as it reaches the top of a wave.

A bend at the end of the forest,

A glint on the surface of a sharpened knife.

Anticipating ants underneath an officer’s donut.

The devout rubs his trout and mumbles in Latin aloud.

 

The look on the face of an expectant father to be

Impatiently pacing in the waiting room.

Or the grim grin on the face of a fisherman

Who has just got his grip on a fish.

Or the brisk breathing of a burglar

With his hands on someone else’s jewels.

Or the pleas of a rubber lover

Begging for an umpteenth chance.

 

A prism that refracts our thoughts,

Directing one’s mind.

Blinding and

Numbing them to reality.

The black of a broken bulb.

Light a candle in a dark room

And see how our focus shifts.

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