Member Poem

I wonder what made you feel for me—

Was it my polished scales, my market allure?

The confidence people misjudge,

A mask for fear and trembling beneath the surface.

Am I the fish you never planned to buy,

Laid out among the finest on the stand?

Silver-eyed, fresh-blooded, a prize at first glance—

Until the stench betrays the rot within.

You picked me with greedy hands,

Ignoring the flies nesting in my lungs.

Was it the bargain you couldn’t resist,

Or the strange satisfaction in damaged goods?

I bubble the oxygen you give,

Foreign, unwanted, choking in its purity.

Stop pressing your fingers into my flesh,

I am the fish that’s already spoiled.

Your strange taste, your appetite for decay,

Says more of you than it does of me.

You never cared for the quality,

Only the thrill of the catch.

So toss me back when the rot sickens you—

The market will offer you fresher fare.