Godzilla

At first our fishing boats
began to return empty. Soon

they weren't returning at all.
Who could have predicted Godzilla

lumbering out of the waves,
hideously scaled,

strangely reptilian?
The creature towered over our village.

He kept swinging his head, roaring
as if in great pain.

Each of his breaths exhaled
was a fiery burst,

our thatched huts leaping into flames.
Stumbling, he braced himself

against a concrete wall,
in agony.

Was he dying from cancer,
his lungs burning, a fire raging

through his body?
We had no empathy, our village

smoldering embers.
Instinctively he turned away,

thrashing his way back
the way he came, his constant roar

like a fire's as it moves off.
Authorities were alerted, sirens

wailing behind the devil beast
as he waded into the sea.

He vanished, like an island
whose coral foundation

has broken apart
slips beneath the waves.

We shared notes, formed committees
to study how we should best

handle such disasters
in the future. Were there more

monsters waiting in the depths?
As our fishing boats returned

with weighted holds again, tunas
and jackfish crowding the marketplace,

the urgency for answers
has too slipped out
of sight.