Peter Tomassi
Grunions
I could see grunions running wave to wave toward the beach
below the trailer-parked cliff
Diving forward, seeping back half, always moving
Ahead, they are the moon powered, stretch toys
Silvery swimming soldiers
The A-rank, B-rank, C-rank meshing when the force changes
In a highest tidal churn flopping on the newly wet sand
Tiny petrified eggs and bodies from last night’s 12:15 am invasion
Digging birth latrines, tails first, for the men to ripen
The women are rubber band tired, prone
To the arc-formed lampposts to the beachhead, to the green moon
Flickering a massive fish farm
No mind to the little brats, bouncing cadets with plastic shovels and
buckets
Or to the centuries
Page(s) 62
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