The Little Fish Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The little fish wounded in sunken university-
How they hold their sides
And wait for the brown eyed mermaid who never
Comes;
And they say woe is me, woe is me gurgling.
While above their heads the heavy feet of pacaderms
Unsettle dust
As they pass in a trumpety caravan in a straight
Row through the tremulous plum trees:
And I have scars you’ll never know, you’ll never
Know, and I imagine how well Gainesville proceeds,
Proceeds
But the brown eyed bar maid never comes.
Maybe it is because she knows I will soon die anyways,
And her bed is made
So she must hasten to the firemen’s soiree-
I don’t know- I don’t know nothing about her dreams,
And still the crimson and vermilion airplanes go
Leaping, leaping straight over me.