I had 3 goldfish once

(well, I’d had lots but these

were the last ones; please

forgive me if I don’t describe

their rivals)

and in a fit of pique I called them

Bored, Depressed and Suicidal.

Bored seemed content until

he suddenly took ill

and died.

(I found him floating on his side.)

I flushed him down the loo

as you do.

Suicidal, eaten by the cat,

I saw his tail vanish and thought:

well, that’s the end of that.

But Depressed went on

and on and on

getting bigger

and stronger

and older.

I never had a goldfish last so long.

(There must be a moral in there somewhere

then again, I could be wrong.)