Fryin’ eggs

It’s hot here in New York, folks.

And it made me think of this:

And that makes me thinks of summertime when I was just a wee one, rockin’ out to Golden Oldies tunes in my grandmother’s kitchen while she made pies for my  uncle’s restaurant.

But all that has nothing to do with this poem I wanted to post.

Great Big Fish Bowl
J.C.D. Kerwin

I wake up drowning
because the faucet’s running in my head.
It’s like a fish bowl made of
brick and stone,
and there’s already goldfish
sliding through my ears.
I open my mouth,
but nothing but gurgles
and bubbles escape my lips.
My tongue toys with the idea
of eating flakes for breakfast,
and I can’t help but stare
at my reflection in the glass.
But I’m not made of scales;
I’m made of water,
and I don’t know how to swim.

April, 2011

Well, maybe it does because it’s water-y. I guess I just want to go swimming, danget.

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