999 B

I call my fish Grief
and hold him right
tight
in a plastic bag
full of tap water

well he swims up and down
this way and that way
but he seems to like it
or at least
at least
I’m pretending
this goldfish
loves the constant threat
of being smothered
by a man reeking of stale
smoke
and spilled beer

his name fits him
and if he doesn’t love me
then I’ll find a new one
a new fish that’s used to clinging
on like a newborn ape
with a plush toy