Poetry / Poets

Becoming a Phish by Edward O’Dwyer

The computer keeps warning
to protect myself against phishing,
telling me I am a target
for phishers everywhere
(and that they are everywhere),
and so it seems I’ve become a phish,
something I’ve no recollection of happening.

Surely I’d have noticed something like this,
or is it my phish memory now
and I keep phorgetting over and over again
that I’ve this is what I’ve become.
But then shouldn’t I have phins
to get around now, if this were true?
And shouldn’t there be a slimy,
scaly sort of phace, pursed lips,
looking back at me from the mirror?

I just know I don’t like very much like
the threat of all these phishers,
the worry of becoming their phish
for whatever phishing purpose
theirs may be.
We all know the kinds of bad things
that can happen to phish that get caught up
in bothers they didn’t go looking for,
just got baited into.

I liked it so much better
when things were the other way round
and back in that simpler time
before that on-screen world
where I suddenly seemed to become this phish;
those fine Sunday afternoons in springtime
by the banks of the perfect Shannon,
a fisher, yes, and fishing, yes,
but not caring, not even for a moment,
if I ever caught a fish.


2 thoughts on “Becoming a Phish by Edward O’Dwyer

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