Goldfish

I hear the flick of the gravel between 
sleeping and waking. When do they sleep.
Awake, I sit in a circle of lamplight, cross-legged 
to watch them in their night-time tank.
Hair tied back, loose side pieces 
trail my cheek – soft, like my fingers 
touching the plastic. Waggling, waving to two fish 
who dart suspicious, panicked. 
I imagine cool amphibious hearts racing.
 
In the light they’re burnt orange. 
I smell burning, imagine drops of dark amber 
melting into fishlike shapes
cooling into something smooth. 
The fish glitter, my greed takes over. 
Can I melt them down into liquid gold and mould them 
into fat coins that feel safe in my pocket. 

I dip my hand into the cold bacterial water.
The surface trembles as 
they graze gravel and brush 
my fingers, slimy. Slimy like the inside of my mind.
I take my hand out of the water and 
it’s like I can’t breathe. 
I stand, with a dripping hand and undress. 
A droplet of tank water falls between my breasts.
I pull down my trousers, my underwear to my ankles. 
I step out of them. It’s time to join the fish, headfirst.