My Creator,
when you made sea monsters for sport, why
would you not make me buoyant,
flattening the waves,
smoothing surfaces, resting
zen-like on the moon’s reflection, bathed
beautiful by her silver light; why not
fiercely playful, breaking unexpectedly,
tossing aircraft carriers after their cargo,
catching men and women on my tongue,
roaring laughter as I lay them out on life rafts;
why did you not make me deeper, less
defenseless against downbearing pressure,
the weight of salt water rusting my scales,
crushing my heart within its own cavity,
turning me into a fossil of my own, ancient self?