Big Fish
May 9 2008


Turns out, I’m a little fish in a little pond
— fooled, all along.
It must have been refraction,
an accident of light,
or eyes fixed, either side
confusing the picture.

But at least it feels roomier, getting littler.
And not so much keeping-up appearances
looking fierce
consuming upstart little fish,
that taste like spiny Styrofoam.
Although I still bump-up against the glass,
and tiny flakes of food
raining down as planned
is getting old, fast.

So that smooth surface, looking up
still tempts me,
the source of sustenance and light
of mystery, and excitement;
a cold dry world,
so big
no one would ever notice
a little fish beside the bowl,
gasping
flapping on its side.