Tiddlers (Poetry)

Words rise like silver fish drawn up to feed
by shadows skimming over a quiet pool —
ideas break the surface
black eyes peer
they mouth at me — this shoal
cold-blooded in their need.

I bait them with fresh worms of hope —
they snatch and gobble
leap from some dark deep
and land quite clumsily
gasping as they squirm upon the page
shedding random rainbow scales
trailing ribbon weed and fancy fern

but now they look distressed and suddenly
I’ve half a mind to show
some kindness — it makes sense to throw
such small fry back.