The fish I used to own was red - a betta fish –
the kind that fight and come from far-away Thailand.
But then it rotted, turning pink, then white like sand,
and then it died, afloat despite my fervent wish.
But then we bought another pair of lovely fish,
the one was chalico, the other lightish-bland.
One day, my brother (two) had dumped their food – like sand –
into their bowl. They soon became as mobile as a dish.
(They ate too much and subsequently had to halt.
They died of greed, although it wasn’t all their fault.)
And so we have no fish. We bought no more to keep.
We thought they’d bring food luck. We thought they’d be a charm.
Instead, we murdered them. And thus, they made us weep.
Instead of luck for us, we dished away some harm.
Inspired by Beth's writing prompt about pets! This sonnet took a sardonic turn though.
ReplyDeleteThanks again Beth! :)
Does it say something totally terrible about me that I find this sonnet funny? I know, I shouldn't laugh at the poor fish and their fate. But still....
ReplyDeleteI read it over...and I found it funny too! Maybe we're just sadistic and perverted? :P I think it mostly stems from the lovely descriptions of their fish and the strange contrast to their really sudden, unusual ends. Or, we're just a couple of sadistic perverts.
ReplyDeleteHA!
ReplyDelete