Spate

Spate

how close
are you keeping to the rabid stream
waded in hip to knee,
are your arms out to stabilize
the current threatening
lethal precedent
evident in the grand jury of fishermen,
feet planted in the thick mud of the shore
raincoated arms crossed pretentious and sure,
bobbers floating in the cascade you brace
which they assert equates an equal stake in the outcome
how close
will the backbiting come to know your truth
of surviving the rapids
with bestial piranha
waiting down river,
they don’t care who pushed who into this water
they intend to eat

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