Fin de Siècle
I wallow around in the cold of the ocean,
Or bask by the beaches where foreigners swim:
If I see the leg of a tourist in motion,
I grit all my teeth and make merry with him.
I wish I could copyright all of the fiction
Concocted about me by landlubber bores:
I'd publish rebuttals and flog contradictions -
Or bite all the bastards with both of my jaws.
Instead I cruise carelessly under the waters,
And nibble the limbs of the liar or heckler,
Then swallow, for afters, his sons and his daughters -
Whatever the decade, I'm Fin de Siècle.