Stickleback
Stickleback
The stickleback had survived chilly
Spring and well into warm, moist
Summer.
His three spines keeping him safe
From even the glutton sabre toothed
Pike.
A chance in a million caught Him
In my childish net. He didn’t know
Statistics.
Thrashing and flopping to the gleeful
Chortles and chuckles of us little
Boys
He was slithered into my jam jar and
Marched triumphantly home in murky
Purgatory.
Slow death on the kitchen windowsill
Overtook him, cooking in the hot summer
Sun.
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