The Magic Fish
Once there was a magic fish whose only fear
was ending up breaded and fried
between two slices of bread
on a little girl's plate
in a so-so diner of high reputation
on a late October day.
So the fish entranced her in a way,
with a dream to slip away.
He let the ice rain fall.
He let the leaves turn red.
And she imagined on
Old books smell musty from a summer of rain,
and a man on a mower with soon-dead batteries
mows frozen grass on a hillside of leaves
while the white woolly worm crosses the road
in the late afternoon shadows.
And she imagined on
Zoo animals wait for winter in heavy-weather coats
as hands-in-pockets people look on
with backs turned against a wind
that sings a frigid song the leaves must obey
when the nights come fast and cold.
And she imagined on
A junk yard dog is happy. Why not? And
a boy with a handful of corn, chased
by a flock of eager geese moving
like a school of fish, screams into the weeds
glistening like diamonds that sway in the chilled sun.
And she imagined on
Turtles on a log
craning their necks toward skyward warmth
for the last time in a long time
watch milkweed seeds glide across a pond
like sailboats on a freshening breeze.
And she imagined on
Deer standing stiff on a tree-bristled ridge
snort steam into the air over a less-wild valley
where plow trucks in a row wait.
The snow is surely coming.
And the fish slipped away
Because in the realm of a magic fish
the wonders never end,
and the sleet on a window pane
can whisper the secrets of the clouds
to a little girl in a diner
looking out
on a late October day.