POEM WRITTEN DURING AN AIR RAID  WHILE THE TIDE GOES OUTAre you ready? I am going to give you the button that controls all the torpedoesTheir beautiful brass tips gleaming in the sun like a vintage tea setset out on the beach for a pleasant afternoon,and someone is throwing the brass teapots and the brass teacupsinto the ocean and they are exploding.This is called fishing.There are limes in the ocean,and lots of octopuses but you can’t see thoseuntil they are grabbing you and dragging you under.The thing is, you can’t outrun the ocean.I promised myself I would stop writing about it so much,but the salty fingers stretch so far inlandand suddenly everyone you know is drowning and you wonder if maybe you are drowning too.You can visit the ocean once and it will show up years laterat your doorstep with sunglasses and a gun and demands.You will find yourself in fevered car chases across the dusty highways of Arizonaand there is the ocean behind you in a matte black Camero.Inside your bones all of the ahi tuna swim aroundwithout fear of being fished out and turned into sushi.This isn’t because no one is trying.Nobody has invented the right type of fishing pole yet.No one knows the password.Now it is raining in the mountains in the middle of a continentand a giant raindrop comes downand washes you right into the ground.The tuna go extinct and my favorite sushi restaurant shuts down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art by Lola Dupré
I went to Hawaii and wrote this poem

POEM WRITTEN DURING AN AIR RAID  WHILE THE TIDE GOES OUT

Are you ready? 
I am going to give you the button that controls all the torpedoes
Their beautiful brass tips gleaming in the sun like a vintage tea set
set out on the beach for a pleasant afternoon,
and someone is throwing the brass teapots and the brass teacups
into the ocean and they are exploding.

This is called fishing.

There are limes in the ocean,
and lots of octopuses but you can’t see those
until they are grabbing you and dragging you under.

The thing is, you can’t outrun the ocean.
I promised myself I would stop writing about it so much,
but the salty fingers stretch so far inland
and suddenly everyone you know is drowning 
and you wonder if maybe you are drowning too.

You can visit the ocean once and it will show up years later
at your doorstep with sunglasses and a gun and demands.

You will find yourself in fevered car chases across the dusty highways of Arizona
and there is the ocean behind you in a matte black Camero.

Inside your bones all of the ahi tuna swim around
without fear of being fished out and turned into sushi.
This isn’t because no one is trying.
Nobody has invented the right type of fishing pole yet.

No one knows the password.

Now it is raining in the mountains in the middle of a continent
and a giant raindrop comes down
and washes you right into the ground.

The tuna go extinct and my favorite sushi restaurant shuts down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Art by Lola Dupré

I went to Hawaii and wrote this poem

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