Something Fishy
by Michael P. Fertig

Since the stream was wet that there fish was too.
The fish was in the water, which was blue.
Minding his own business, the fish he did swim,
right down that stream as if on a whim.

He stopped as he swam at the sight of something squirmy,
a worm on a hook in need of an infirmiry.
“This freakin’ hook is stuck right through my damn ass,”
the worm said to the fish with a heavy touch of sass.

“That’s a hell of a spot, you’ve got yourself in,”
said the fish to the worm as he licked his chin.
“But it’s a shame you’re so helpless and looking delicious,
when I eat you, please know that it’s nothing malicious.”

And in an instant so quick, that worm he was lunch,
the fish had been starving and needed to munch.
But wait, what had happened? Something’s not right.
That fish found himself stuck like a pig in moonlight.

“Aw hell,” said the fish, “I’m such a freakin’ chump
That dumb worm even told me he had a hook in his rump.”
With a sudden violent pull, the fishhook lodged solid,
and that fish was on a boat with a man who looked squalid.

“Well you’re a ripe sized old fish,” said the filthy old man.
“I’ll keep you and gut you and fry you up in a pan.”
The fish gasped to breathe but the air was quite dry,
He thought that flip-flopping might be worth a try.

But then a revelation came over the fish,
What if he offered the old man a wish?
Or more wishes even, like three, four, or five.
Maybe the old man would let him survive!

“Hey there old timer,” said the fish to the man.
“If I grant you some wishes will you spare me the pan?”
The grizzled old fisherman spit out his tobacky,
“Is that fish there talking? Or have I gone all wacky?”

“No no,” reassured the fish in voice soft and kindly.
You’re not going wacky, I’m speaking refinedly.
You caught me and plucked me right out of that stream,
But let me go and I’ll make real your wildest dream.”

“At first I might not think that wishes you could grant,
but as I breathe, here I stand listening to a fish give a rant
about making dreams real and granting me wishes,
so if you can talk, you must be one of them magical fishes.”

“Magical I am,” the fish replied quickly,
“hurry and wish before my scales turn prickly.
For whatever you utter I am obliged to produce
You want girls, or money, or how ’bout a goose?”

“A goose?” asked the man with a smile and a laugh.
“That’s crazy you freak, I should cut you in half.
I should eat you right now, have a feast made of fishes.
Yeah, I wish for a goose, instead of a great piles of riches!”

“Okay,” said the fish, “you said it out loud.
A goose you shall have, instead of riches abound.”
The sky crowded with clouds for a moment then cleared,
and from out of nowhere a big fat goose just appeared.

“You ordered a goose?” said the bird to the fish.
“Sure did,” he replied, “just granting a wish.”
And they chatted right there, that fish and that goose,
the fisherman couldn’t help it, he took a swig of his juice.

“This is one crazy day,” he muttered as he drank.
“If I ain’t drunk, then my name just ain’t Frank.”
“If you say so, then Chuck,” responded the fish with a grin.
“But you’re probably Frank ’cause that’s water, not gin.”

“So what now? Is that it? Or for another wish have I a choice?
You tricked me of my first. Now I’ve got a goose with a voice.”
“Right you are,” said the fish, “that was horribly unfair.
Make another right now and I’ll make it come from thin air.”

The fisherman sat, crossed his legs, and began to think,
“I’ve got it!” he said, and to the goose threw a wink.
“I wish for some dinner, something good, something tasty,
a full scrumptious meal, and for dessert some pastry.

“A meal it is,” said the fish in a whip,
and suddenly a kitchen appeared on the ship.
A stove on which sat a pot and some potaters,
a pastry nearby, and two lady caterers.

“We’re here at your service,” one lady did say.
“What sort of delicacy may we whip up today?”
The man did look upward, trying to think of a dish.
“You know what?” he said. “I feel like some FISH!”

The fish took a gulp as he recognized his fate,
the goose sort of giggled and asked for a plate.
With a sigh and smile, the fish said in a whisper,
“I don’t suppose you wanna try cooking my sister?”

“‘Fraid not,” the man said as he walked down the boat.
“You’re what I’m eatin’. And keep your bones out my throat.”
The fish looked up and said, “Funny how this all transpired.”
Then he was tossed to the chopping block, where he violently expired.

So what did we learn from this situation today?
Talking fish can’t be trusted, so go on and fillet.

One thought on “I’m no poet, that much is clear. See? That didn’t rhyme.

  1. well it doesnt have to rhyme it just as to be something you really care about. i love writing poems and i have a few published but they dont all rhyme that well. its what i really care about inside like drunk driving and life try it you will like it trust me.

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