Danielle Wheeler

Undertow

People looking at the sea,

makes them feel less terrible about themselves,

the sea's behaving abominably,

seems never satisfied,

what it throws away it dashes down

then wants back, yanks back.

Comparatively, thinks one vice president,

what are my frauds but nudged along

misunderstandings already there?

I can't believe I ever worried

about my betrayals, thinks the analyst

benefitting facially from the sea's raged-up mist.

Obviously I'm not the only one suffering

an identity crisis knows the boy

who wants to be a lawyer no more.

Nothing can stay long, cogitates the dog,

so maybe a life of fetch is not a wasted life.

And the sea heaves and cleaves and seethes,

shoots snot out, goes to bed only to wake

shouting in the mansion of the night, pacing,

pacing, making tea then spilling it,

sudden outloud laughter snort, Oh what the

heck, I probably drove myself crazy,

thinks the sea, kissing all those strangers,

forgiving them no matter what, liars

in confession, vomitters of plastics

and fossil fuels but what a stricken

elixir I've become even to my becalmed depths,

while through its head swim a million

fishes seemingly made of light

eating each other.

help save his heart