One windless evening the bass started biting
just before sunset as I glided along
the bayou in a pirogue with a ******
of the paddle here and there for direction.

I was casting a topwater up against
the bank among the cypress trunks and stumps
and overhanging limbs and shrubs and twitching
and popping the bait until the fish struck.

To see and hear and feel the violent burst
of each strike and to set the hook firmly
in each jaw and each battle kept me out
until the mosquitoes and the gator came.

At first a bumpy head at least a foot wide
and three feet long with big shiny black eyes
inched toward the pirogue and me as if we
were just what they had in mind for dinner.

I dropped my rod and thought I’d better paddle
fast and hard before Wally got too close
but Wally sensed panic and to my horror
I saw the swish of their tail fifteen feet back.

The gator accelerated smooth and quick
and locked their gaze upon the very spot
the paddle broke water to push me away
as the jaws snapped shut and cracked it in half.

I slid away watching as the gator shook
their monstrous head free of the broken splinter
and I realized now they’d be coming again
for me down the bayou with half a paddle.

The pirogue rocked on the wave Wally made
during all the commotion and sure enough
they came again stalking the little boat
now stalled and adrift so I had to act fast.

I untied and lifted my stringer of bass
gasping and wet like a shiny green fleece
and hefted and hurled it aiming precisely
at the slashing jaws of the reptile beast.

The gator struck at the fish with a splash
of their big toothy head and chomped down on three
huge bass and swallowed them whole in one gulp
then snapped up three more that were still on the string.

So Wally was happy for now as the sun
went down and I wondered how to get back
to the dock half a mile away in the dark
with Wally nearby and perhaps hungry yet.

Then I got an idea and picked up my rod
and cast the old topwater past Wally’s head
and chugged it back popping in front of their face
where soon they attacked it and hooked themself good.

Wally went down with a **** and a swirl
and made such a wave I grabbed the boat rail
with one hand while holding onto the rod
which bent almost double as the line stretched tight.

The pirogue took off like a rocket boat
as Wally swam up the bayou to flee
the pressure and drag and the alien hook
underwater and then on top with me.

In no time I neared the dock in the dark
and slackened the line until Wally shook free
then glided right up to the dock and *******
and got out fishless but at least in one piece.

(a senryu poem)

I’m transitioning
my personal pronoun to
“Your Majesty”

The unknown in me
written July 22nd, 2021

I collect words
and try to fit them
to my experiences

trying to capture
this moment right now—
it is all I have.

I—looks at the page
and writes a moment
while others peer over her shoulder

shaking their heads
curling up to sleep from the overwhelm
reaching out to change a word or phrase

we are all here
sometimes all at once
other times one at a time

I always think I know
who writes these words
this   word   right   now

Until I look back
and don't recognize
words just written

I guess we are used to it
the wonder and startlement of
the unknown in me.

They're simply words
Used to help someone
Live comfortably
In a society
Where they don't
Feel that they belong
Because you decided
For yourself that they don't
Because you were raised
To be afraid of those
Who do not conform
To what you believe
Is a society where
You wish to spread
Your negativity
And futile behaviour

They say
She says
He says

Some say “it“ but are do not mean well.

You say “whatever“
And call yourself a bread
A sandwich.

You joke, you giggle.
I make it real.

Taking things serious,
Taking things literal,
Is a talent of mine.

But the idea of identity
It is a story of yours

These pronouns
Fresh like bread
Wholesome like wheat
Savory like heat
They are just like you

When nothing works
When all feels wrong
Sandwich will put a smile on you

And you
Might give a sandwich
to sandwir

A sandwich
is sandwirs

It is meant to be

Sandwich
Sandwir
Sandwir
Sandwirs
And sandwichself

The mania of grain and wheats
Will never be gone

I look in my reflection
And in the mist I see
A completely unknown person
To which the world calls “she.”

Her long hair a dark brown,
Eye color? Hard to tell
Her chest fully unbound
Says she’s doing well

I grasp onto my face
Staring into hers
The world has picked up pace
And all my vision blurs

But her face is not mine
To the mist I’m not confined

Dress, makeup
Heels, leggings
Feminine

Too-big pants, no makeup
Oversized shirt, men's shoes
Masculine

Regular jeans, little makeup
Sweater, tennis shoes
No gender

Fancy shirt, tie
Skirt, heels
All gender

All these
But I'm
Still me

And that's okay

dear quinn,

it's okay
to tell people

how to make
you feel
okay.

they'll call you
by the right name
and the right pronouns.

and if they don't,
they will have lost
a part
of what it is
to be
human.

and that isn't
your fault.

love,
quinn