Peace, I Lipspeak to the Polkadot Grouper

Oliver Rice

I am oblique at the zoological park
with my twelve year old and his soccer friend,
am diverse, circuitous at the aviary,
intemperate and discontinuous at the aquarium.

They are for the reptiles and the monkeys.
I wish to stay with the exotic fish.
Meet me back here, I suggest, or on that bench.

Angelfish, the placards inform me, Japanese tang,
royal gamma, blue devil, black neon damselfish,
indigenous to reefs of the East Indies,
the Red Sea, the Caribbean, the Similian Islands,

golden pink, jet black, circling, cruising the tank,
darting, gliding, maroon shading into violet,
idling, plunging, brilliant blue lined with yellow—

what do I divine from these dazzling configurations?
Instances, patterns of knowing?
Some discernment, syllogistic, loreful,
of first or last things?

What of the one huddled there,
solitary among the plastic seaweed?
What egos lurk in the tangles of ersatz coral?

Peace, I lipspeak to the polkadot grouper.
It is I, late Homo sapiens, attired for a mores,
who careers along the tracks of his inwardness,
strewn with empathies, ambiguities, ephemeralities.

The boys return. It is snack time.
I straggle after them, pleasantly discontent
with my chili dog and a conscience for everything.

Oliver Rice has had his poems appear widely in journals and anthologies in the United States, as well as Canada, Argentina, England, the Netherlands, Austria, Turkey, and India. His book of poems, On Consenting to Be a Man, is offered by Cyberwit, a diversified publishing house in the cultural capital Allahabad, India, and is available on Amazon.

“Peace, I Lipspeak to the Polkadot Grouper” appears in our Spring 2010 issue.