Stalling, not wanting to stare, I stare

Into the ragged day-room’s aquarium,

Unesalle fantastique sous la
mer

Un-updated since pin boys crouched on
planks:

Drifts of plastic coral like multi-colored
mud, fake rocks,

A tiny wreck and treasure chest, the yellow
ape

In cast iron boots I take to be my
alternate

In uselessness. Wisps of something white

Have made a Q-Tip of his brandished
spear.

I’ve brought lemon drops, kind words, a
picture book of polar bears.

Long seconds pass.

Tap, Tap. Smudge a finger round the glass to
rouse the occupants.

Nothing. A vacant glance, and gone. The same,
or nearly,

As if I’d turned instead behind me and rapped
upon a wide forehead –

All those bright

Echoing rooms in which a dozen times an
hour

A mouse will soon excrete a pellet

K. pops in her mouth one mid-century August
afternoon;

A green squawking stalk its perch above a
grand odd-shaped thing.