Resident Expert

This is posted in response to Prompt #35 at Read Write Poem.

.

At 2 a.m. on television there was

an ad for some documentary about

the abyss, the very bottom of the sea.

A place so dark the camera was its own

light. You were half asleep on the couch

beside me.

.

The news was on. Between the ups and

downs of clouds and scores was an expert

hired to sell a war. Ideas worth dying for,

the high benefits, low cost, how little the

blood would run.

.

He stirred slowly, lifting from the mud,

a deep water beast resentful of the air

and sun. He spoke almost belligerently,

prodded gently as one might tease an

urchin with a stick. His voice, the thick

rumble inside a sub as it scrapes the reef.

.

He spoke casually, a lamprey’s

mouth lisping: “People are told to kill

each other all the time.”

After ensuring the state would never be

at fault, the thing retreated to its nest of

chalk and salt.

.

Floating in and out of sleep, you

mumbled: “Is this the show about the

ocean? I thought the news was off.”

.

Then the anchor spoke over stock

montage: flocks of bombs,

ships the size of cities vying for

turf, happy families tossing

beach balls by the surf.