Eels

Bags of groceries bursting open

on the motorcycle’s path

on asphalt cracks which are woven

rivers of the aftermath

With not a care, she’s steering

at destruction’s path, sneering

‘Cease’ in her mind, without a bat of lash

Carry down to the end

where the tree roots upend

Motorcycle chokes on mud with a splash

Swiss Family Robinson

with a stick not a gun

like childhood fights with those wood-carved swords

but every rule abhorred

Back and forth around the tree roots

teeth bared and eyes are glistening

Mud squelches about their old boots

unaware who is listening

to the crack of wood and spikes

groaning of forgotten bike

As he stumbles backwards in the water

eyes betray mortal fear

feel of flesh on his ear

Perhaps it’s punishment for manslaughter

The roots cling to our heels

battalion of eels

Water rises now to their bloodied chests

Roots rise up as though possessed