If My Fish Could Speak
If my two goldfish could speak
they would surely have long conversations
about the weight of pebbles in water
or the buoyancy of plastic plants.
I wonder what they would say as they play together:
nudging back and forth and swimming under and around each other’s feathery-fan tails.
“I love you more.”
“Noooo, I love you more.”
If my fish could brag
they’d tell you about their bowl on the window ledge and
how they watch the cars drive around the parking lot like a crazy human aquarium,
how the sun shines into their bowl in the afternoon,
and how it’s just like swimming through watery gold-dust.
They flutter around, showing off the way their orange skin gleams in the rays of light
that pour around the fake lotus flower I put in there.
(They love that too.)
If my fish could sing,
they would be hard to understand (singing underwater is a challenge-even for fish) .
My fish would know all the words to the newest Kelly Clarkson album,
The Garden State Soundtrack, and all of Prince’s dirtiest songs.
If my goldfish liked Prince, they’re favorite song would be Soft and Wet:
“You're just as soft as a lion tamed/You're just as wet as the evening rain/How will I take it when you call my name? /Your love is driving me...you're driving me insane”
If my fish could hear,
they’d tell you that I talk to myself.
They’d probably also tell you that they’re tired of me talking to them.
Most likely, I’ve assigned them the wrong gender
and they’re pissed about being called
he when it should be she, and she when it should be he.
Luckily for me, my fish are the tolerant kind,
and forgive me of this mistake.
If my fish could read,
they might compare me to Roald Dahl’s The BFG
and call me The BFS: Big Friendly Sara.
Although, as far as size goes, I am much bigger than the real BFG.
(The BFG was about 6 times bigger than Sophie, and I’m 63 times the size of my fish.)
Even though, in this scenario, I’m the taller of the two giants, I am not the superior. When I go to Dream Country to catch dreams, I come back only with bad ones
and I wouldn’t want to keep these in jars on my shelves, even if I could.
If my fish could drive,
they’d fly down the highway
not knowing where it would take them.
They’d snap photos (if fish could snap photos)
of sun rises and sunsets, of road signs, and of bugs that got smashed on the windshield.
They’d laugh and compare the car to their bowl on the window sill,
joking about getting wheels put on it for better parking-lot viewing.
And they’d wish that I was with them on the road.
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poem by Sara Waalkes
Added by Poetry Lover
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