Poetry

Opposing Gods

There’s no door to the kitchen,

But it never had one. There was

A floor, that had gone.

Now a sheet of wood; a walkway over

Bare pipes below.

More run up the wall, into a hole above.

The goldfish, hidden by

Thick algae. Bathed in green light,

It peaks through to see

My world.

My dad stands in the opposite corner.

A sledgehammer. Mjolnir.

He says he wants to smash the wall down.

Says he wants me to make the first

Hole. I stop. I’m afraid.

He gives me a small hammer.

I think of kings on deathbeds, handing swords to

Brave sons. My sword is a butterknife.

I say no. He doesn’t understand.

I’m afraid I’ll hit a pipe,

Fear that scalding water will burst out, that

10,000 volts will strike down my arm.

He doesn’t understand.

I stand by the fish.

Manu and Vishnu.

I put down my little hammer,

With a tap.

With a giant’s swing, he sends

The sledgehammer crashing straight

Through the wall.

I jump. I wince. I step back.

The fish doesn’t move.

Joe Birch