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.
