Fish – Jacob Dunning


The slimy, putrid smell of victory Fish

Is heavy in my nose.

The sum total of the day’s work wriggles in my hands

Still trying to gasp for breath in an alien environment.

Wishing its self able to take in oxygen, and survive, through sheer persistence.

I allow myself a cocksure grin, and do my best to make it look

Like the beautiful, disgusting thing I hold isn’t difficult to keep

Above my head.

(The boy next to me is my cousin.

He tries his best to hold his fish above mine,

And I don’t protest, as mine is the larger.

It occurred to me, in a rare moment of youthful insight,

That once in a while it’s a good thing to hold your fish

Slightly lower than your cousins.)

The thick, filmy ooze begins to creep

Down my arm.

The fish struggles, with one final attempt to find its way

Back to some unseen body of water.

The queasy lotion coats my forearm now, and

I suppress a triumphant shudder.

I feel it stop squirming, and surrender its life to me.

I’ve owned it for hours.

But accepting death is a curious thing.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s