Poor fish <br />who never made it to August <br />in 1963. It was <br />a good year, that year <br />when Zimmerman freewheeled <br />his way across Europe <br />and mentors died; <br />when a crack of gunshot <br />exposed a festering wound. <br />A girl named for a star <br />clipped the hair of four prophets <br />and set them loose to pour <br />their waters on a parched world. <br />It was the era of my grandfathers <br />who tamped their footprints <br />on the sky, while I <br />lay unbothered by it all, <br />curled like a shrimp <br />with my thumb in my mouth. <br />Sometimes I feel I missed out. <br />Poor fish.<br /><br />Caroline Misner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-fish/
