Week 37

Mom and dad always fought,
like hyenas I should say
but I've never met hyenas in real life.
Mom would nip and nip and nip
until dad had enough and would suddenly roar back,
his roar was unexpected
like being dunked under ocean water
and the weight of the wave was a surprise of sorts,
icy cold
on a hot summer's day.
I never liked when they fought
just like I don't like hyenas
and cold salt water
in my ears
and my nostrils,
when for a second you became
a sea creature.
It's just like the wild becomes you
when you live in it and among it,
the dew of rage seeping into you
and burying deep,
and you become part hyena without meaning to be.
I wonder if I can be any different.