By Jubu Djanx
There are days
the glaring Sun
weakens me,
as do Egyptian geese,
& goslings become prey
in shallow waters.
Yet otters,
when they lavish
whelps with affection,
are a sight to see.
I never feared
one day I’d grow
thorny or mutter,
Humans can be
porcupines.
Everyone
should know.
Borderlines—
get too close,
it’s only a matter
of time before
someone
gets poked.
Like the day
I poked a bb
in my brother—whose
name became a bother.
With a push, he fated
my fretting finger to falter
unlike my father,
who bought
me a Gibson,
couldn’t haggle the guitar,
and once
fretfully
alternated slapping
hands onto both
sides of my face
yet rescued an otter
when we lived in the first
of countless cul-de-sacs.
The critter bailed,
like I did several times
thanks to Mutter and Vater.
In German, the word for nutria
is Otter, creatures far
cuddlier than borderlines—
beasts cursed with the prickly
skill of making skins thin,
like so many porcupine quills.
Jubu Djanx, born Mike William Panasitti in East Los Angeles, is a graduate of UC Berkeley and former New Folsom inmate. He currently volunteers as a recovery educator in Orange County. His poetry has appeared in Oprelle Publishing’s Matter Anthology, The Awakenings Review, Chiron Review, Calliope, and has been previously featured here on Academy of the Heart and Mind.
