Gerald

Gerald

He fades from turquoise to sapphire
in the clear bowl he calls home. Swim,
swim. All day long, he circles it. Content.
The river-bottom rocks that were purchased
so sentimentally from Wal-mart lead
him on. He is not free. He swims.

What kind of life is that? Trapped without trial
 circling the rim of a translucent prison.
He sees through the spherical window
into a distant world only characterized
by a phantasmal perception. Eerie,
the fish-eye camera snaps in a flash.

A rounded world of beings unknown
to his miniscule brain. They peer,
dropping tiny pieces of sustenance into his
home.
Home, where he eats, drinks, and defecates
in monotonous repetition.

His memory of such sights is not retaining
though and he forgets almost as soon as
he witnesses. Swim some more. Ignore.
His peripheral view is hardly worth mentioning
as he twitches violently to the side, wriggling through
the black and silver plastic plant, hiding from view.

Just as the world forgets about him
he forgets about the world. Swim.