Fish

I am rooted on the bottom of an ocean teeming with life

The fish float by, mass produced and plastic

They breathe deep the water pumped in from

China, India, Mexico and Japan

Nothing is local, Nothing is wholesome

They float, and I stay anchored deep in the muck and slime

Longing for the taste of pine wood air

For blue skies and white peppered nights

Their hum is a nail in my hand

Their greed is a bullet in my brain

I see the Pac Sun Fish, tattooed a deep purple, black and red

I smell the Hollister Fish, dripping with artificial pheromones

I hear the Abercrombie Fish singing boom boom crash boom

I taste the sick, bitter taste of Excess as it swims by

I feel shame, deep, burning and rooted