painting a pretty picture

a ruffled fisherman casts his line on an overcast day.
his crows feet speak his age
but facial hair hasn't aged a day.
endless eyes equally match, with defiance,
the endless black lake.
i'm a sunfish in this salty body beneath his wooden feet,
it's blue absorbing molecules reflect my mood.
the fisherman expertly lures me in
and suddenly,
without warning,
with my mouth watering around the bait
it pierces me and my passion erupts
and we are attached my a disconnection of string.
i do not fight, i'm too stunned by
rushes of serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin.
ironically, he is the one jerking my scaled body about,
rather than my own convulsions flailing his sinewy machinery.
his dominance over me is overwhelming
and the cultural history and normality of this curses me.
desperation and pride fill my cheeks with blood
and i blanket any bubbles from fleeing my mouth
with swallowed saliva and kind words.
because i choose to believe this
reality.

he extracts me as his prize, consumes me even
and i live about him until my rebirth as
vitamins, bacteria, urea and gaseous elements.

a bird breathes me in and i become the bird.
the fisherman becomes a hunter
and he shoots me down.