                         Bomb Fish


Somewhere on a world whose name I know not, 
Glimpsed in passing on the way to somewhere else, 
A castle is in peril.  
It looks hopeless.  

The attack comes from above: 
A mighty ship of the air drones overhead, 
Out of reach of slings and arrows, 
Raining death on the people below.  

Even the sun loses hope.  
Frowning, it hides behind a cloud,  
Then peeks out, 
Driven by morbid curiosity.    

But all is not lost.  

A wizard stop the tallest tower waves his wand 
And the falling bombs,
With their tail fins and long bodies, 
Change in midair 
To become giant fish.  

Other wizards cast illusions of explosions, fire, and death,
As the people, secretly anticipating the feast to come, 
Feign fear.  

The airship, knowing nothing of magic, 
Departs, satisfied: 
Mission Accomplished.  

As the death illusions fade 
The people gather up the fallen fish.  
Pretend conflagrations give way to real cooking fires 
As the mood becomes festive.  

The sun comes out from behind his clouds,
Smiling again.  

I know not how or when this war started, 
Or how or when it might end.  
Perhaps not even they know.  
Nor do I know, 
As their world fades from view behind me, 
Whether I should wish them peace.  


                                       -- Thomas G. Digby
                                       Prose Draft    20:54 06/14/2002
                                       Poetic version 23:58 06/20/2002
                                       Revised        21:15 06/21/2002

