Gill

Two tangerine fins

One larger than the other

I looked through the glass and made faces.

I made googly crossed eyes.

My fish was a woman.

She was deserted sand caves of silence.

Her tail fell off

Slowly deteriorating

(I didn’t clean the water.

I didn’t wash the bowl.

She turned to grains and I felt the grains against my toes.

I felt the grains of lost fish food in my hands.)

Flipping over and over again

She used to dance

A permanent stretched smile like a long winding highway

One too many has been hooked

But old age was the face of chomped fish food salad for Gill

One two three

Flush, flushed.

Or was it dinner?

Crunching sweetness, salutations over, adios amiga.

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