i had this goldfish and i wrote a poem about him. here it is:
~ode to fish~
oh what a life at sea
in this clear glass world
there's no one else
but,
reflection me
no, not a soul
just tiny fish wishes
and bubbles blue and bold
each time i peek
it's my face i seek
with shimmering scales of gold
each view is new
a refreshing hue
-memories, short term are few-
i flitt around, tail like a tassel
flying all about my underwater castle
translucent lemon finns
help me swim and glide
when fingers tap and faces spy
i swish through quick and hide
i look up at clear blue sky
i bolt and jump
landing high and dry
gulp in air
eyes give blank stares
i breath, sides heave
life, it leaves
clouds drift by...
i,
goldfish,
die.
so. i am now realising that this poem was really an awful prediction. only, my fish didn't jump out of the bowl. he was tortured by my cat the assassin. sigh. its really ok since every fish is really just a dictator reincarnate. my cat was just doing his job, bringing us one step closer to world peace. my fish was named Pretty Boy, he loved to stare at himself all day in a mirror. we're probably better off with one less narcissist. next time you buy a goldfish, don't write the tribute prematurely. thus ends todays account of the short life of a household fish. adieu
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