Wednesday, April 03, 2013

V. 2, #7: April 3, 2013

The smell of motor oil still makes me think
of fish. My uncles pulling up the drive
with river water pouring out the back
of that flat, dented boat they always took
to check their trot lines; then they'd lug the chest
of bluegill bream and channel cat on ice
into the dingy, cinder-block garage

Where old petroleum mixed with the stink
of doomed aquatic creatures, still alive,
mouths gaping as in shock. The men would smack
the catfish with a mallet. Wrenches shook
on pegboard, vicious pliers bit down to wrest
the skin from flesh. The bream they'd scale and slice,
while I crouched down beside the bench to watch.



Scott said...

This one's in the sonnet form that (as far as I know) I invented: two septets, rhyme scheme ABCDEFG ABCDEFG. (First example here.) I like the blank verse-style openness of the septets, and also the challenge of fitting the second with the first. In this case, it made me reconsider a few word choices and phrase things a bit more creatively (elegantly?) here and there. Which is one of the things I like about form generally--how the restrictions require creativity, and invention.

Anyway, I kind of like this one.

Scott said...

(Even though I admit I cheated a little with the near or not-so-near rhyme on the last line. But *you* try fitting "massage" or "mirage" in there and having it make sense! :P )