fish

 Through rocks and plants, a pirouette,

I squeeze him tight like a tourniquet—

For if I don’t, he’ll escape my grasp

So I sieze him securely as a heavy clasp.

But when he moves, it’s with such poise,

—Like a thin elderly man from Illinois— 

With a thick mustache but a body of grace

And a frown adorning his droopy, old face.

Silent, he moves in the palm of my hand

Gasping for breath when his chest expands

Because he’s very old, and he’s with disease,

But mind not quite as wise as Socrates—

He will fall for your trick again and again,

Amnesiac behavior from the sick old man 

Makes him bored, and tired, it appears—

And through the struggle, his lip gets pierced.

This old fellow is not without defense,

When he lies in my hand his body becomes tense,

Then he punctures my palm and makes me bleed,

So I put him back where I found him and I turn to leave.

But when he wanders away I see him peek back

Perhaps to see if I make another attack,

But his dark empty eyes have reeled me in

And I vow never to catch this old man again.