This old poem was recently revised. Unfortunately, I'm unable to replace the original version, due to some formatting problems. So I'm leaving that one in place, in its chronological spot, and posting the updated version here.

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,

muscling-in

on the big kahuna.

Who stick in my throat

like spiny Styrofoam,

taste like spoiled tuna.

Not to mention far less chance

bumping-up against the glass.

But whatever, small or vast,

tiny flakes of grub

like manna, from above

gets old, fast.

And the little mermaid sunk

in the bottom of the tub

could use a good scrubbing.

And I still keep looking up,

wondering

what’s there.

The source of sustenance, and light

and cold dry air.

Where everything is big

not less,

and who would ever notice

a little fish beside the bowl?

A flash of silver, flapping

gasping for breath?