~CHRIS ELLIS~

THE AQUARIUM

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The fish were dead, two angels,
pale scars on the gravel, limp

sails where they sank down
and died.  He couldn't remember

when he last saw them
alive.  What remorse

for remorselessness, in his empty
glass, airless and malignantly

foul.  He kept them mute,
grazing the cold tank

occasionally mentioned, just fish
circling their stagnant existence,

ornaments in his peripheral vision.
Now gone, save the chuckling

of the filter, water trickling down
his walls bending in under the liquid

ceiling, shimmering, unbreachable—
too hard, and too far away.
 
 

© by Chris Ellis