Cage Fighter

I could have been a cage fighter,

Or so I like to think:

A burly, broken-nosed brawler

Gushing blood on the brink.

Perhaps a brilliant scientist,

Peering into the sky,

Discovering ancient starlight

Transparent to the eye.

“Pulitzer winning journalist”

Might have followed my name.

Bold headlines would announce my work,

Showering me with fame.

These daydream thoughts dance through my brain

While laughing at my plight.

They beckon me to climb the ring,

Though clearly I can’t fight.

It is so much easier to settle

Than strive for higher peak.

Why risk a mortal head pounding

When comfort’s what I seek?

Anxiety

Undaunted by the sun,

They spiral in slow descent,

Dragging grim shadows

Beneath their

Mottled wings.

Their yellow eyes

Survey my naked flesh,

Exciting their

Tiny brains

With primal appetites.

Ravenous screeches

Prick up the hairs

On my neck

And fill my mouth

With metallic fear.

Swooping past me,

They stir the

Parched, dusty air

And trail rancid decay

In their wake.

Curled into a ball,

I cower helplessly,

Waiting for these

Worrisome thoughts

To fly away.

Nattering Little Monkeys

Nattering little monkeys

Brawling among the trees.

Slapping, spitting, and hissing,

Spreading filth and disease.

They chirp such inane prattle,

They stamp their feet so loud.

The jungle shakes and quivers,

They each remain unbowed.

He grabs a fallen tree branch,

She crouches in defense.

He swings a mighty circle,

She mocks him with pretense.

What petty crime has triggered

This latest rigmarole?

Did her sharp tongue assault him?

Or something that he stole?

No matter what the reason,

They fight like this all day.

To think they both spawned from me:

I shudder in dismay.