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Like Fish and Boys
In junior high Dad bought
a twenty gallon tank, filled it with
a small school of fish
and then promptly forgot
about them, while their water turned murky.
So I would sit, knees pulled to my chin,
toes curled around the seat of a small wooden chair,
and watch them suspended weightless,
like pennies, slowly roaming the length of the tank.
Glinting streaks of gold and glittery glare.
Except one fish covered in a thick film
one day struggled bobbling by the side,
labouringly surfacing for air.
And the other goldfish swam by this one
nosing it against the glass.
Suspended, dying, with no place to hide
and bullied into it more quickly by the others.
My Mother tried to console me,
"That's just how fish are."
And I took her word for it.
Then a year later, my class stood huddled at the gym door
impatiently awaiting the final bell to ring,
I watched a group of boys swagger in and out of their circle,
chests proudly pushed out like puffer fish,
their arrogant unity broken only by one small boy
timidly starind down at the floor.
He stood a target with his back to the others.
And the silence prickled my skin as te boys turned to him.
They swarmed toward him with choreographed movement,
hefted him up, and placed him in the rubber garbage can,
erupting in cackles, laughing openly, bending over with the fun of it all.
The boy sat stuck in the can, all energy spent,
His arms and legs hanging from the edge
He couldn't rock himself free befor ethe bell rang
Couldn't even wipe away his own tears
Instead he was crumpled tightly wadged,
surrounded by a backdrop of mockery.
And I was afraid that if I told my mother
She might just say,
"That's just how people are,"
And maybe she'd be right.
