Fish Out of Water |
Issue 18
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I went to live in a fishbowl, swimming back and forth, looking out the big window at that strange world I used to call home. A backpack with a survival kit hanging on the coat rack, a cigarette butt in the coffee cup, a news anchor with a hair hat mouthing platitudes on TV while the invisible ventriloquist counted his billions. The other fish didn’t have much to say, and I couldn’t tell if they were happy. We had to take turns glass surfing because of the overcrowded conditions, and I sensed that my abrupt transformation had adversely affected our shared environment. There was a cute little house at the bottom of the tank, which we had to use one at a time, so I decided to build something bigger, to create a stronger sense of community, when all of a sudden the TV blinked wildly. News was breaking everything in sight. I thought of our little house. And then I realized I had no hands.
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ROBERT WITMER, now an emeritus professor has taught courses in poetry and short fiction at his home university in Tokyo and also in India. His writing appears in many print and online journals. He has also published three collections of poetry: Finding a Way; Serendipity; Sunrise, in a Rabbit Hole
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