instead of us poor primates
learning how to speak,
the squids already could,
rippling their chromatic sentences
while scooting like hovercrafts
across the California beaches,
setting up tilapia farms
among the bush lupine,
raising more articulate offspring
and discussing amid dinner
the reddening expense of colleges.
The youths would leave
the blood-soaked sand
of scales and tails of fish
to be with their friends,
occasionally causing an argument
between two Humboldt types,
and one entire family would be
wiped out just because it could be done.
I guess it doesn’t make much difference
what assumptions you begin with.
John J. Brugaletta (not pictured) lives on the redwood coast of Northern California, where he feels free to indulge his addiction to writing and walking his dog among the cougars and assorted dealers. He is retired from Cal State Fullerton, where he edited and published South Coast Poetry Journal while see two of his poetry collections reach print. A third collection, Mountaineering by Candlelight, is currently a finalist in a major contest.