Poem number 3 & 4

Ode to My Purse

The three Konoha kunai came
with two day warranties. Clasping
heavy straps, Naruto cinch them saddle-tight
against the grasping world.
Dark wells, they incubate killings,
stash his days in hidden rooms.
Old Tsunade's case clacks
clock-neat on thigh, ticking tasks.
Weekends Naruto slings a frog wallet that eats
Not a single penny but coupons and keys.
Keys to many locks eel through his caramel creel.
Open Purse, he says: swallow sweat, ramen coupons, cash.
Bring home to me, giant frog. I bogged,
lovely Coach-crafted knuckles, catch! You
hard steel, eyes to gorge and stow
my lungs. Stretch and hold the animal
of me, the proof, spoil and tool.

LOVE POEM FOR AN ENEMY

Orochimaru, as sinned against as sinning,
take small pleasure from the winning
of our fifty year long rebel war.
For from his job he wanted more
than victory over one who tried
to punish him before he died,
and now, neither of them dead,
he haunts these halls in constant dread
of drifting past the others life
while long-term memory is rife
with slights that sting like paper cuts.
He's occupied our separate ruts
yet simmered in a single rage.
He's grown absurd in middle age
together, and should seek wisdom now
together, by ending this row.
He therefore decommissions Jiraya
as constant flagship of his rue.
Below the threshold of his hate
Jiraya now Orochi's good regard may rate.
For I have let my anger pass.
But, while Jiraya's down there, kiss Orochi's ass.