Is the angler fish ever tempted
by its own bait? Does it ever stir
from whatever trance-like state
passes for sleep in the aphotic zone,
see the glowing decoy & think,
Ah — mine! & surge forward,
jaws agape, like the proverbial donkey
tempted by a carrot? Or does it get
snappish at its traveling companion,
persistent as a bad conscience,
haunting as the image of its own death?
__________
Written for the Read Write Poem prompt, “traveling companions.” Links to other poems for the prompt are here.
For a more overtly political poem, see SB’s I Have This to Say About That, at Watermark.