the straight back didn’t hurt
though others felt sorry for him
he swam like a fish without a tail
or a very fat seahorse
dating was difficult cuddling impossible
children out of the question
his back was so straight that every time
he was netted they’d throw him back
humans couldn’t use a shrimp that
wouldn’t cling to the edge of a cocktail glass
he outlived those he grew up with
and often wondered which was worse
the agony of solitude or a stir-fry death
a slow cold demise or a hot quick exit
he tried to imagine what it would
be like on a bed of rice surrounded by
hungry smiles and the tinkle of silverware
then entering a mouth
engaged in the ecstasy
of conversation
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