sixth-grade slaughter by the plastic pond
a wooden fish is hung under
exchanges crumpled ticket and
pocket lint for plastic rod. blue fish clings to the line,
the number on its
moon-faced man gruffly tells me
to reel in
body is limp in butcher’s palm,
jaw gaping, lacquer chipped,
fins glued on askew.
i exhibit the space between ribs,
the six stained on skeleton.
one of his hands hold another body,
call it taxidermy,
and the other drops number six
into inky baptism.
painted eyes are silent
as body is cleaved from spectre
and a carcass finds
Scott Hicks has work published in Contemporary Haibun Online, Road Not Taken, Poetry Quarterly, Three Line Poetry, Modern Haiku, Shot Glass, Liquid Imagination, and Down in the Dirt. He came to poetry through therapy and lives in Fresno, California.