THE FOOLING FOX
Did you remember?
When we met in a wintered December
My ears tingled on your little secret
Slithering proudly in your tongued secrete…
You lipped a voice like an angel
‘I don’t eat fish’…with a gaudy swell
I coughed--muffled a bursting smile
As you wore a look in a mermaid’s style.
We went for the hunt for mince pie
Two or three we did buy…
The monger told us it was fish baked
You said as long it was not fish staked.
We removed the debris of fish
And I sensed your hungry wish
You munched with a sweetened gnash
And puked nothing in the waiting trash.
I told you of my concocted fish stew
Served some and the fish I withdrew
But not without the fleshy tears and torn
Of coward fish in the scoop and turn.
On sweaty palms, you ate the redeemed grains
Warped neatly from the steaming pains
And tongue-lashed the plate a clean slate
I sighted a stew-spilled veil tied to your tiny waist.
I have begged the troubled thought till now
Of the question of how, the how and how …
You hate the fish and not the flavour
And on the stew you feigned not the savour.
I just told your known truth
And suddenly you lost your talent of Ruth
And today that I cooked fish
You munched your rice with a stewless dish.
I see your eyes bloom a pitied sight
And your hands wearied like a starless night
I whistle more fish from the cooling box
In your wan grin, I see a fooling fox…