Paper Fish

Raccoon colored clouds,
darkness gathers.
A tumbling sky, 
shoulders splatter.
Street puddles boil and gutters clatter.
Bullfrogs assert: 
what does it matter?
Neon light tassels lay lucent streaks
on Manhattan sidewalks 
and mirrored streets.
The rain from its cage has been released.
Had thunder been a steak
Could I serve a feast?
But today, I’ve become a sidewalk fish
whose shoes go squeak and squeal and swish,
near buildings that sit like sunken ships.
So I mop up memories
and swim away
from a chlorinated sidewalk this wet Tuesday.
But I feel, yes, I feel
that come what may:
I’m a paper fish
In this city today.

About the author


I was on this site long ago when trolls roamed the land and no blocking option was available. I'm hoping to see some old friends, however, the site looks a bit different. I'll explore a bit while I'm here and decide if it was a good move to join.


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