Chopsticks
By Paul Cameron Brown
Only marginal chances
of finding a Great White
in my coffee
although the cigaret's tubular belly
is flotsam against my hand -
a dirty kerosene color, sleek & grey.
2
And stirring the embers of my cup,
suppose the grinds become primitive shark lore
of forgotten peoples or death sticks,
dry rot teeth, fathoms
squinting light.