untitled poem, joint venture

Untitled by Rose & Micah
Commence with poetry, I demand.
There is an ethereal gap in the space where I put words,
my knapsack is empty and light.
I am tempted to pick up stones
and fill it, just so it will beat against
my lower back with that satisfying WHUMP.
I have come to expect my heart to pound
whenever the word "chiropractor" is mentioned--
they're gonna crack my bones and make
my brain dribble out these rocks
with inspiration written on their smooth grey surface.
Instead I throw stones into the river,
I make the skip across the water.
What a way to disturb fish and give me
a meaningless grin at their misfortune.
They gaze up at me with marble fish eyes,
that expressionless stare so unfocused that
I'm never sure if the fish are looking at me
or some scaly fish-god in the sky, the grand
fish-father, the creator of all things that
wiggle and jump in the water. And if they are,
what prayers do they say to him, what
incantations bubble up from the depths and get lost
in the incessant babble of the river?
So here I am--overlord of tasty fish friends--
thinking how pointless it would be if I hit them
with a small pebble and so conceited,
that I should take advantage of their good fishy nature.
With a splash they swim away
and I am left to ponder where they went
in the darkness of the rushing depths.
Still, I look for words to the fit the emptiness
and all I have is pebbles at my feet.
So I mumble what I think is a fish prayer
Full of "bless me, scaly fathers" and "I prostrate myself to you, o finned ones,"
Hoping that the silent gargle of fish talk
will become the unwritten poetry.
Et fin.