Aquarium I Poem by Morgan Michaels

Gallons and gallons of bubbly brine
liters and liters of precisely calibrated,
perfectly aerated saline,
I'm an aquarium
sitting high on legs of iron filagree;
an imaginative think tank
of quavery wishes and fishes darting like cunning thoughts;
drop me a pellet-
I'll dissolve it and shine
all the more clearly for it.

Like flexible question marks
through my corals, angelfishes glide-
unblinking rove their eyes
that notice everything;
they park, back paddle, squat
but can't decide
if there's life beyond the top.
'Oh, well, ' they sigh,
we shall know when we get there.'

Press your nose against my side.
Notice my bubble-maker-
its bubble-spitting pipe of plastic, clear,
its nest of graying angel's hair
wound within.
Don't you marvel I appear
never to tire of holding my gallons in
like an endless inspiration?
Well, here's the take-home:
a black bottom makes every color brighter-
flamier reds, azure, blues once pale,
irider oranges- (didn't you know? Hey,
and you call yourself a designer!)