Up, up, slenderAs an eel’sChild, weavingThrough water, our lonelyPipefish seeks out his dinner,
Scanty at best; he blinksCut-diamond eyes—snap—heGrabs morsels so smallOnly a lens pinpoints them,But he ranges all over
That plastic preserve—dorsalFin tremulous—snap—andAnother çedillaOf brine shrimp’s gone ...We talk on of poetry, of love,
Of grammar; he looksAt a living comma—Snap—sizzling aboutIn his two-gallon CaribbeanAnd grazes on umlauts for breakfast.
His pug nosed, yellowMate, aproned in gloom,Fed rarely, slumped,Went deadwhite, as we argued on;That rudder fin, round as a
Pizza cutter, at theEnd of his two inchFluent stick self, lets his eyesPilot his mouth—snap ...Does his kind remember? Can our kind forget?
(Photo from here.)