Tomorrow’s Fish’n’Chips
In Sapphic Stanzas
They buried him underneath the waterfall,
snakeskin wrapped around his head, a crystal in
each eye. One is shot with rainbows, the other
amethyst. Strange what’s
found in news reports from two weeks back. Nothing
more than bare bones wait for flesh to fill them out.
I embellished with the stones. The waterfall
was no more than a
place name, mere suggestion of a stream. What strange
rituals did they carry out, and why? There’s no
answer on the printed page; we’re left to our
imagination.
All these things, that used to wrap tomorrow’s fish
and chips. Now digital and cached, forever
graveyards of the net to hold the hungry ghosts,
fixed in webs of time.
© Zarina Dara 2018. All Rights Reserved
First published in Poets Unlimited in April 2018, during National Poetry Month.
