A Goldfish Remembers

less than 1 minute read

Being carried from the fair
in a see-through plastic bag,
being plopped into a bowl
with another golden lad.
Swimming round a pot pagoda
and a quivering piece of weed,
watching my owner watch the telly —
he thinks he’s the referee!
Watching my owner watching me
each and every hour,
waking up to cloudy water —
it tasted very sour.
Waking up without my mate
because he jumped out of the bowl,
wondering where on earth he’s gone,
and where’s his goldfish soul?
Seeing him on the carpet,
frozen stiff and still.
Thinking that won’t happen to me —
I’m going to live until
I’m 43!
My name is Tish,
I’m from the North.
You just wait and see!

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