The Who Talked To Fishes. Poem by Terry Collett

Fish tank after fish tank
all in a row, he peered in
at the fish: small fishes,

big fishes, different colours
and patterns. Some flashed
by or darted across the water

in quick agitation, or they
swam slow, philosophical,
floating before him, mouthing

bubbles at him, or just giving
him the steady stare, wondering
why he was there. He talked

to them watching them for replies,
taking the opening and closing
mouths for signs of silent words.

How are you? He'd whisper to
the glass causing breath stains.
He watched for them to say

something in their fish language,
or flap of fin. There were the big fish
in the ponds, large and colourful,

moving slow, coming to the edge,
thinking he'd come to feed,
or they'd move off in disgust

or disappointment, with turn
of head or fin or tail, and he
took that as an answer somehow.