You’re doing it again, he said.
Hiding behind metaphors.
What do you mean?
‘Claws’, ‘Whales’. ‘Billabongs’. All metaphors. Why don’t you say what you want to say? Get it out in the open.
Of how ugly it all is. All that anger.
Face it ! Stare it down !
What would it look like?
It would be a different poem. It would bang and bellow. Draw blood. Howl with expletives.
Would anyone read it?
Possibly not. But it would be honest. And it wouldn’t have billabongs in it. Billabongs have to be earned. Not brought in after four lines. Your poem is the most polite poem on anger I’ve ever read.