Extra NaPoWriMo: Subject to Fire

Today I'm going to be
the destroyer floating
in my childhood's tub,
not a chance of sinking
under the water's tumult,
always there to fire
at my brother's animals,
made to float, to squeeze
out moisture like a sponge.
I will reenact battles
I barely recall, of ships
stomped by feet, monkeys
thrown on the floor, kids
chasing each other
as the tile becomes wet,
the rug soaked.  What do
these miniature disasters
tell me now?  We must
bear the swamped job,
taking on the ocean,
or the sunk faith, hit
by an unknown torpedo?
That the sky sees us
as a rainbow meant to come
soon, but not now, not
until we promise to color
our worlds again?  Sure,
I'd rather be soaked.
I have my gun still.
Everything and everyone
is subject to my fire.