he was a small white goldfish
i had when I was a small white child
he had a red cap shape on his head
and when I was siphoning
part of his water from the tank
i siphoned too close to him
and sucked him up into the hose
where he got stuck headfirst
a few inches from the end
i blew back into the hose
and he popped back out into the tank
swimming straight into his castle
that was just a small clear plastic butter dish
with a square cut out for the door
his pectoral fins gently fanning
to keep himself centered
in shock and in place
i worried about him unmoving
that way for an hour
then reached into the tank and pulled out his castle
after which he swam around
like a normal fish again
i think about Woodstock
today
when I find our big black dog behind his crate
in the bedroom at the foot of our bed
lying on the rug with his head down
on crossed front paws
when we have both been up
and in the other rooms for hours
i think about Woodstock
today
as my wife lies on the couch
watching and then turning off
a TV show about texting while driving
a handmade wedding quilt pulled up to her chin
as she curls deeper into another nap
i think about Woodstock
today
as my eyes and brain turn endlessly
to distraction after distraction
hopefully to hyperlinked weathermaps
documents applications and emails
and i try to imagine the sensation
of being pushed backwards
out from this compression
against the grain of our skin and fur and scales
and swimming back to the shelter
of our little improvised plastic castles
then i try to imagine the sensation
of a giant hand reaching in
and lifting them away
