A fish is pulled from wet life of waters,
into suffocation and placed on dry ice,
it encounters the dim glowing light, the knives
of a silvery reflection lining with its eye, a pan
that it can't blink away, it sees fire, steam, champagne,
then remembers the stream it pulled itself through,
currents that came like a belt of race horses.
It pulls in this strange environment to its gulls,
collapsing its lungs, its fins begin to flop,
a colorful silky skin of amber and blood red
flipping from side to side, as it slowly dies.
The rush of escaping from fear, of oil spills
and predators, how many times it felt champion;
now caught in the outer world of hooks and hypocrisy,
where the humans abide drowning in their own fears.
Anthony Liccione lives in Texas with his two children. His poems
have appeared in several print and on-line journals, and he has six
collections of poetry books.
His latest book, Symmetry was published by Shook Up Press.
James H. Duncan