The Poet Jay Snodgrass and I

Took our children to the beach and I ran over him
With my mother's kayak. I was the triumphant Tuscan
Raider, the paddle was my truncheon aloft
Hrukk-Uk-Uk-Uk. I was the mighty Inuit fisherman
And he was a helpless harbor seal. Or had he become
The Swamp Thing wading determinedly
Through the waves after me? I couldn't tell you
What the children thought of all this.

If you were the Swamp Thing, it wouldn't seem so hot,
Covered in your layers of vegetative mass. Also if one of your friends, say,
Lost an arm, the Swamp Thing could grow it back for them.
Thanks Swamp Thing! If you were Ghost Rider it wouldn't be so bad
As you would already be engulfed in blue fire and the Hellfire
Covering your skeletal frame would be very cold. That's how Hellfire is.

None of us have the benefit of these things.
Instead the heat devours us and our lives become fused
Like one singular, volcanic
Gonad.