THINGS I WANT

I acquire a betta fish, for no special occasion except, I’ve always wanted one. Small, shriveled red, Like a slice of dried tomato, Floating at the top of the tank. Someone has pressed Black beads into the face. The guppy lips are perpetually unhappy. It is an ugly thing. My brother jabs the glass, and names him Burt. Every day Burt circles his tank. Its corners are fresh and frightening To his three second memory. When my roommate leaves the window open, The cold forces its way through the screen. Burt dies. I perform resurrection beneath the flicker flicker...

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