My gut warbles like I gargled
and swallowed the salt. My feet ache.
I raise them. Propped on pillows,
I take pumice to my toes. I’ve callused
over like the goldfish crackers
in the bowl in my lap. Each fish
has a smile and a little blinking eye,
the other eye wide open. They wink
and smile when you eat them. I eat
handfuls at a time. Outside there is wind
and little children dressed like Eskimos
in the rain. The wind is getting harder.
The goldfish swim around my stomach
until they become one giant goldfish
swimming around one round bowl of flesh.
It wants to look out through my skin
at the noise of the children and wind.
Its nose kicks against my liver.
It wants to see what I see, what it’s like
out here in the light. I want to know
what the fish’s dark float is like. I run
warm water in the tub and lie under water
until my ears fill with bubbles.
- Dave
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