Down Among the Fishes (Poetry)

The gentle soothing stream of bubbles from
the screen-saver’s virtual fish tank
lulls me into aqua dreams
and lured by coral outcrops and the brilliant blues that beckon
I go swimming with the shoal who mouth hellos
and nudge with scaly sides and fins — show off
their varied patternings a flowing palette rich
with living colour.

In contrast I feel dowdy in my skin — unspotted and
unstriped — my pink-grey sliver lacking pigment
washed insipid — flesh too dull for silvering with light
or staining deep with vivid pulsing hues.

The cold-bloods flock and jostle — swarm and crowd me round
like I’m some flabby curiosity in their slimmed-down realm —
this visual trick of three dimensions — and possibly
a fourth to let the spirit drift about in —
experience the comfort of a well-lit sensory womb
with sympathetic images for quiet
and so undemanding company.

It is enough to float here for a while — absorb
the pseudo-saline memories — recall whatever
meaning maybe held in bubbles — long strings
of wisdom in a language way too simple
for the human herd.