The Bladder
       

He who'll lose his bladder calls it Three Days Down, or
The Haunted Mere. It must be reconstructed from other
body parts. I imagine what those parts will be, elastic like
the wrist, thin like the skin where the cheek meets the
tragus of the ear. Small mushrooms have begun to grow
along the inner lining of the bag. Doctors scrape the
lining; but then, the mushrooms again. You would have
to swim into that lake, he says, not breathe for days, to
kill its monster. That's how he talks. That's the only way.

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Copyright © 2013 David Keplinger All rights reserved
from The Most Natural Thing
New Issues Poetry & Prose
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission