I Became Jaded Gazing At A Mexican Fountain Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

expecting to see somewhere a hairline crack in the base
of the Mexican-tiled fount.
A sign of a spouting leak,
a gush of water issuing from the cement wall
but all I got was dried gold fish resting between sheets
of desiccated algae with no Wasabi to boot.

Well, I think you get the gist of my thinking about your
poem and hope your scales are shinier and stiffer than
those of the dead goldfish. May their scales line your ego
the way an armor marries a knight's body and his
mental state when he returns to his Cunégonde and finds
her bedding his brother if not a whole foreign army.

I hear this happens often when damsels in the throes of
absence of their beau throw themselves instead of
down Squaw Rocks they choose instead to have
their thirsty holes filled with alien fish.
Speaking of watering holes and the preceding tale aside
I look about and observe the eucalyptus trees

that crowns the fountain and see perfection
in their imperfect figures. Not all trees are ideal.
Some are misshapen others not fully grown yet some have
sculptured silhouettes like the perfectly chiseled
green jade Buddha on my shelf pondering over the dust
collecting on his lap.