there's an aquarium i go to buy my food

      it stands out from the tessellation of homogeneous big box stores
      
      it is a simple pleasure to meander the isles 
      compared to the unwalkable streets and unremarkable light-industry
      
      its species richness is uncomputable relative to the surroundant where the only ambulating animal life is carseat leather
      
      in its tanks are creachers from the benthic, the shoals, under rocks, and from schools
      it smells like an old-timey dock far away from shore
      there's a troupe of hardworking people behind the counter happy to help
      it's fun to look at their scales, shales, shells, barbels, stalks, flecks, whiskers, and lateral lines
      
      they are made of math and infinite wonder
      when i divorce myself from reality it's a beautiful escape
      the whole store is stocked fresh and bountiful and i allow myself to marvel and to be enchanted by the beautiful creachers
      it is a beautiful escape
      
      only,
      it is not that
      it is very different
      
      the creachers there are aerated and condemned
      each tanks life support system exists to support death
      
      the creachers are sensitive
      staring out into florescence, accustomed to near darkness
      
      creachers with ears that line the entirety of their bodies
      with appendages sufficient to navigate craggy total darkness
      are stuffed into boxes with ceaseless unsteady pounding aeration
      
      they are sensitive
      and arrive damaged from rough handling
      
      some too are killers
      eat and eaten where they are from
      but it makes little difference
      
      why must the only reprieve be of cruel nature
      my heart returns to the crack in the sidewalk collecting cigarette dust