Tuesday, January 28, 2020


At the back
of the store, in a
frosty glass case,

tail to head
to tail, in

edifying sequence—
each face

each frame,
a proud silver tear-

shaped muscle,
streaked pink and
flecked green.

Moving closer,
my own face, super-
imposes on

the transparent window—
the individual,

for freedom,
always striving
for greater and more personal

modes of expression—
while these simple iterations
of the same animal

glisten eternal
under the florescents,
proud and stoic

as monuments.
When I die, I think
I will leave behind

a distinct lack;
no more reflection,
no way to preserve

or to sample
exactly who or
what this was

that once
would stop in a store
like this to wonder

which of us, person
or fish, has had
the worse luck?