I own piranhas. Keep them in two tanks
with thickened glass. Grow Amazonian plants
to keep air in their water. All their wants
are catered for, though I expect no thanks.

Ungrateful killer wretches with sharp bites.
I feed them bits of mince with leather gloves
to keep my fingers whole. Their brutal loves
are fun to watch. Sometimes on drunken nights

we shine bright lights and watch them writhe and spawn
take little nips out of each other’s tails.
And all in silence. You’d expect some wails
but no, not even when small ones are born

and eat their mother’s guts. A thing I own
that might, like love, jump, chew me to the bone.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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3 Responses to PIRANHAS

  1. shadowkat67 says:

    You own piranhas..interesting. Must be difficult to feed?

    An oddly fitting poem for today’s tragic events. Humans can be piranhas too…

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