Fishy

Insisting you’re a fish
when you stand here on two legs
not
breathing water: listen,
you’re no fish
just because
you jumped into the pool and
you can swim.

In the water
you’re smooth and
shiny.  Swim long ways
under and above.  
We might see that and say
“hey, she’s a fish!” because
we abhor speaking
without comparisons
to ease the talking —

but,
you’re still not a fish.
You don’t know how
to breathe underwater

without drowning.
You can’t swim all the time
surrounded by fishhooks
and harpoons and
fish-hazards we don’t even know.
Don’t know how lovely
gills feel against
your body.  Don’t know
self-fin care.  Don’t understand
milt,
or nests scooped in the bottom.

If you come up on shore
and say,
“I’m a fish, love me
as fish, take me as fish,”

what are we supposed to do —
toss worms? put in 
a line? get you a plastic castle
to live in? No.
Most of us are gonna turn around
and say,

“that’s not a fish.
I know a fish when I see one,”

until (maybe)
you start flopping on the ground
and start drowning in dry air.

Even then, we’ll more likely
say something
about the power
of self-delusion.  Say,

“something smells
fishy here —

no, wait, that’s not it.”