I want to be a fish, I said, and they said, Why?
I said, it’s cool down there and green,
Like bottle glass.
And they said, You are mad, think of the nets,
And fish that feed on fish and worms with hooks.
And I said, those are traps for fools.
And they said: How will you talk down there?
I’ll sing alone, I said, in bubblenotes.
The wise old doctor shook his head
And told my grieving kin, You’re right,
He’s cracked, we’d better call the van.
And I was caught by two big men in hip boots,
Who threw me in their tanker,
and drove away.
At the aquarium they gaffed and hauled me out,
And dumped me in a bowl so small
That I could hardly stretch,
And now two days a week I’m put on show,
And visitors drop worms over the side,
Which I must eat – I’m given nothing else.
This wasn’t what I planned,
But it’s a beginning.