Icarus, old man, don’t be upset
that you couldn’t have what you wanted to get.
A poet is a miserable chap if he’s trapped in a wish –
I remember a time when I wanted a fish
from a fellow on a pile of glistening cod.
With the briefest of smiles, I condescended to nod
and demanded he hand me his catch.
There was a millennial pause.
An’ who’re you to be askin’ like that?
Of course I stormed the beach and clawed out his eye
and he gave as good as he got.
He threw a crushing left hook and stuck a knife in my side
and we rolled on the ground, and blood and fur flew,
until his wife appeared, like an angel of doom,
and thrashed me to death with her broom.
I lived, luckily, but it just goes to show
Contentment, at times, is a good skill to know.

 

The Moth’s Return: Icarus Inconsolable

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One thought on “The Moth’s Return: Icarus Inconsolable

  1. Being content is not a condition but a verb. Your poem dramatizes this lesson well.

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