Fishy wishies.

My silent friend

with tiny ears,

he floats around

and only hears.

His movements, small.

His eyes don't close.

He cannot speak,

but still, he knows

My pains are his

and his are mine.

We pity, and

we both are fine.

He patient is

and hears me out,

but still I wish

that he could spout

One single sign

of mere reply.

A word, a wink,

a noise, a sigh.

I ponder what

this fish does think.

Oh, does he like

this homey drink?

And yet if we

could trade one day

I think that he

and I would say,

"I'd rather be

where I have been

than ever live

like you again."

And so we sit

and float and wait

for someone else

to take the bait.

For we will not

and we refuse

to ever, EVER

be like you-s.

We are content

to be ourselves,

in our heads or

on our shelves.

I wave my hand

and he, his fin.

We like the place

that we are in.

So from our house,

and from our bowl

we say to you:

That's how we roll.