Parable of the Guppies

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    Parable of the Guppies

    Parable of the Guppies

    Or

    A Wet Triquetrous Triptych

     

     

    [Canto one]

     

    I bought a one-gallon tank

    for a pair of guppies alive.

    The tank was on the window shank

    And the two guppies turned into five.

     

    The plants didn’t do well.

    So I bought a six-gallon tank

    With lighting and heating, in which to dwell.

    I put it in a downstairs room, to be frank.

     

    Suddenly, the guppies increased!

    I think thirty or more were seen.

    The plants I added were a messy feast.

    so catfish, to keep the bottom clean

     

     

    Now what?

    When I was young,

    I solved the problem but

    From age a problem sprung.

     

    Flushing some dull fish

    down the toilet seemed easy then.

    Now, my over-ripe ethics began to swish

    saying this is “wrong” to do again.

     

    Is this how a god feels?

     

     

     

    [canto two]

    Once the tank was new,

    a clear and cleanly brew.

    The plants open to the light

    and two guppies swimming bright.

     

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum rhum-dum-dumm

     

    Time passes, plants then fight

    For light in their plight!

    Many guppies wisely slither

     through that forest dither.

     

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum rhum-dum-dumm

     

    Green algae darkly grows on

     the side of the forgone.

    Snails too, infest the tank.

    Myself, I have to thank!

     

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum rhum-dum-dumm

     

    How do I control

    that frenzy inside this bowl?

    Pull out some lovely plants

    Crush those snails and implant,

    a pair of hungry angelfish! 

     

     Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum

    Titdi rhum rhum-dum-dumm

     

     

    [canto three]

     

    My original guppy pair is gone

    but some offspring survive them still.

    Two large assertive angelfish

    meet me as I walk into the room.

    Do they pay homage…

    Or curse me for being late?

    Once the room was empty

    of life…of need…of strain.

    Is there a lesson here

    or merely idle whims and random movement? 

     

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    burdick’s Poems (314)

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