Our Fish


a poem by Myra Dryden

Goldfish they say

Have no memory,

So they live in a wondrous new world

Every minute of the day;


And although we've had ours

Since that day way back,

When Dad hooped three Las

And carried him home in a plastic bag,

He really has no idea

(The goldfish that is)

Who any member of our family is.

Just like grandma sometimes.

Coloured Pencil on Paper: 280 x 200mm                © David Swift