Fish

They called me ‘Fish’

which I thought somewhat unoriginal,

but they were kind and fed me my favourite foods

of prawns and chocolate

and I opened my mouth and wiggled my fins

to show my appreciation.

Sometimes plastic bits had blown into my pond.

I’d tested them for food worthiness

and spat them straight out,

so tasteless and with a tough unpleasant texture.

I’d rather eat raspberries,

well, perhaps not raspberries,

but fish food,

yes, I’d rather eat fish food.

But I wouldn’t let my human friends know 

that this was an option.

I was still concerned about Brexit 

and wanted to make sure that 

their stockpile of chocolate biscuits

was adequate to see me through.

When they give me a luscious big piece

I always give them a big wet kiss in return.

They seemed to like it

and really it’s no trouble,

they are so sweet.

There are other issues that cause me concern.

The frog they call Croaker told me

that numbers of dolphins

had washed up dead 

with pieces of plastic in their bellies,

and not the ubiquitous micro

but chunks,

big chunks.

I knew that dolphins were mammals

and that mammals were said to be

the most intelligent of sea creatures,

yet they ate plastic!

It gave me food for thought.

Croaker says salt water causes brain death

and he seems to know most things about life and death.

They’d told me that I was very old

and that the oldest goldfish

had lived for forty four years.

I didn’t think I was quite there yet,

but one thing I knew for sure -

when I did sink into 

the big pond in the sky,

no post-mortem would reveal 

plastic pieces in my belly.

Or raspberries.

https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_dramaticmonologue.html