Blake Cardwell
Cornhobble: To hit (often a person) with a fish
The Cornhobblers keep throwing fish at my head
Never at inopportune moments, though
When I walk down the street,
I look up from my feet
And a fish flies at me from a window.
They strike at moments most menial,
Not when my suit must stay clean,
Not when I hold something fragile,
Not when my reaction will be mean,
But when consequences are light,
And there’s no need for fright,
They hurl those fish towards me
With all of their might.
One got in my home.
Much to my surprise,
A carp flew to my brain dome,
And smacked me between the eyes.
The culprit then fled, with no second to spare.
They made no real damages to my little home.
You would hardly even know they were there,
Save for the lone creature that they had thrown.
They always strike when the time is apt…
How do they know?
They’re more than mere pranksters; they’ve seen how my days go.
It’s as if they’ve watched my every move that I’ve made.
Maybe I’m little more than a piece in a game.
They clearly hide in plain sight. That much I know.
It’s never the same person twice. Never a repeated show.
The fish are more than fish. I can’t explain why…
But I believe they are catalysts to tap into my mind.
It’s always the head; never the chest or a thigh.
The fish read my thoughts. They must use them to spy
They are an insight, the creatures that lie below.
They aren’t just a trick, a fun way to smack my brow.
They parse who and what I am… but the question is, how?
Why do they persist with this? I simply have to know.
I’ll corner a culprit. I’ll ask all I can.
I’ll see why they pester me, just your average man.
No matter the cost, I’ll figure out what they’ve planned.
I’ll get the answers I need. This mystery must end.