this morning, there was
only one goldfish
swimming frantically
against the glass vying
for my attention.
Yet I didn’t see
a telltale floating goldfish, no one
tangled in the plastic plant
or sucked half way up the pump.
My trusty red spatula stirred
him from under the rock
and his poor little corpse
floated languidly
to the surface where he
moved in the circular current,
just as he did
a moment later when
he disappeared with a
single flush.
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1 comment:
Um... How to say this. Totally sad, but a nicely matter-of-fact poem. I like the way you ended it (the poem, that is).
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