The Stench

Salmon swims up the waterspout,
drinking and driving in the family car.
When it comes down to feeling half-empty,
no one knows a faster route
than protecting the world from another flood.
Salmon dries glasses like a summer drought.

Slender arms and you know that it’s true:
standing up right but he’s looking straight down.
While you were out, he knelt with his head,
worshiping numbers underneath his shoes.
Spilling his drinks and spoiling his food:
lies to the world but you know it’s for you.

Somber eyes,
what a surprise.
So many people
breathing similar lies.