The Betta Fish

I just bought a Betta,

He’s in a bowl on my desk.

Seven-tenths of a gallon, what has he got left?

A fake piece of coral, food once a day?

If he could talk I wonder what he would say.

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I got him at Walmart.

He came in a cup.

I tapped every one and he’s the one that perked up.

Swimming in circles, as I walked out the store

Back on the shelf his friends sit and snore.

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I watch all his moves.

I can’t predict one.

So alien a creature to take captive for fun.

He swims there alone, I can’t imagine his terror

Seven-tenths of a gallon? I can imagine my error.

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I should make it all right,

I mean I control his whole life.

But can a betta live in a world without strife?

Looking back at his cup, all tiny and gross

The world which he came from is much more morose.

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I could get him a heater.

Maybe a 10 gallon tank,

But that takes more effort than I’m willing to make.

But what does it matter? he’s not where he’s from.

I bet he wishes for rice paddies in South Vietnam.

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So he sits on my desk.

He’ll have to endure.

He’s thrashes the walls, why? I’m not sure.

Fighting himself, trying to break free?

This little betta is starting to sound just like me.

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That’s why I love him.

Not for his fins or blue hue,

He stares back at me and says, bitch, I am you.

So we suffer together, his tank and my room.

Someday we’ll escape to a warmer lagoon.

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