Member Poem

You’re reaching, stretching for an apricot
when—ouch!—a pointy thorn impales your hand
and yanks you up. You’re now an astronaut
without a spacesuit, dumbstruck by the land
gleaming like chalk. Beyond the clouds, the sky,
suspended in a space with zero air,
gasping for breath, you cannot scream nor cry.
Whatever’s got you there seems not to care.
Thrashing about above the rippled blue,
that’s just what I went through, a fish quite pretty.
While dangling, there’s one thing I surely knew:
had they detained me, it would have been a pity!
They kindly tossed me back into the sea,
where now four sharks, like jets, close in on me …

Moral:

To lower the odds of becoming a tasty dish,
try your best to not be born a fish.