From the Fishouse

The plumes of the avocado are sick.
Dad cuts roses with a hatchet.
Beetles swarm the figs. Crystals grow in the honey.
In hell there’s nothing but crocodiles
and fathers. In Mexico the devil is handsome
and smiles in his photographs. He has one wife,
two daughters, three sons, but no father.
He rakes leaves and fixes umbrellas,
tends to his trees, and occasionally
throws back his head and sings.