Submariners
the hull of this sub
marine is impregnable,
and i’ve been sleeping
on a bed of bugs and
i’m covered by parts of
them. little black
razor spindled legs pincers opaque
rainbowed wings and the
odd
eye.
this submarine has been
infested and so i have
had to relearn how to sleep.
in the red glow the
other submariners
sit, move idly, brusquely, conspicuously. the
captain mans the periscope
and slaps at a persistent female mosquito.
the chef ducks into the freezer wearing a
sweater of bees because the cold keeps them docile.
the men brush centipedes off the sonar screens
and they
are
crawled on.
and all at once
in the torpedo room
a rush a fog of
grasshoppers take flight.
the men hold their hats like bonnets and
pretend they are out in the murk, the ocean with the
mermaids as the scourge swirls in the
red light manically blinking
like blood silver beads
