if it smells like fish…is it fishy?

I

at the mile high club i met miss fishy;
we talked, and i was impressed – and still
i did not join her sorority.

i after all was the fish that started
it all – a beginner at myth making
you can call me man.

like a fish with a wonky lung and heart
murmur i moved to a home on the shore
where my eyes immediately improved.

i soon got used to arms and legs and
began to think that fins were useless
and flimsy at love making.

II

when i grew a hand at the end of my
arm this was a revelation that i did not
need to take grief from anybody.

with my hands i separated myself from
the world, i found no use for things that
disturbed the serenity of my anarchy.

with fingers i articulated language and
divided myself into clans who invented
kings who then began to worry.

i wish i could wrap my fish mind around
a solution to the problem of kings, perhaps
an appeal to a higher authority…

III

naw, what am i thinking? i am a fish, a
product of many reactive perfections – still
i wonder what i might do next…