MAN SALMON
Frozen, just below the surface, with heart barely beating,
I wait as impatiently as something barely alive can wait for you to begin your slow thaw
Releasing me from this impenetrable Hell, so bad.
Hell, so bad theologians say, is a place of unending fiery torment
But I find that it is this unending absence of heat that burns most intensely.
What was that flame I felt when we first kissed
That night you expressed your appreciation for my handiwork with a home cooked meal
And the bottle of cabernet sauvignon lulled our mutual moral sentinels to sleep
So that we could steal into the inner chamber for a brief visit with passion?
I swear with all my heart that it was not just the Fine Blend of Wine and hormones
But something Deep and Profound which inspired me to charge like a salmon
Against the prevailing current of my gender specific fears
To consider the prospect of marriage.
And indeed, something Deep and Profound that inspired me
To face the possibility of a cold drudgery of life without you
And to plan against it determinedly
In that determination I found a sense of purpose.
This is what it means to be male, I realized… to covet the prized thing
And to muster the spirit of conquest for a life-or-death battle to achieve… POSSESSION!
I WILL POSSES OR EXPIRE IN MY EFFORTS!
And summoning all of my creative energy, I fought off all competition,
AND CLAIMED MY PRIZE!
Wine and hormones are not capable of producing this level of determination in me… no.
This was that something Deep and Profound we call LOVE
I felt it, and responded in a most commendable way, if I do say so myself
At least, that is what I have thought in times past
But now, I sometimes view myself as one of those salmon that never made it back home to the place of beginnings…
Did not win the privilege of offering my gifts thereby achieving genetic immortality.
Instead, I found the first waterfall too tedious and overbearing and preferred instead to drift deliciously and dreamily down stream in a splendid state of euphoric apathy… relieved and so satisfied that, for me, the silly fight was over.
And dreaming for who-knows-how-long I suddenly found myself not in water but in a cold, viscous pool… ever thickening… that suddenly became a hardened prison.
I am sure that this is not where I am supposed to be.
At times it seems good that I am not dead and decaying at the bottom of the river like those who “stayed the course” and spent themselves entirely.
But at others, I am not so sure that I am better off than they.
And still at others, I think that if I could just muster that Spirit of Conquest anew, I might generate enough heat to free myself.
Can you promise me that if I try, you will not whistle-up a cruel wind-chill?
