Our Little Flopping Poem by James McLain

Look at it, it looks at all the small children.
Gathered round, it they move with a stick to touch.
What does it eat as it lives and it rises, saying.
What is it like to live in the short dream of life?
Day runs into night all run after day,
and coming at last to the hour, humbled this table.
Transfixed through and through out one end,
and there coming in, someone is laughing, because.
This is our little flopping, hysterical I am smiling miracle.
Children, children, who is it that caught us this fish?